


Love Under the Ishvalan Sun

by Griselda_Gimpel



Series: Love and Sedition [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Adultery, Background Relationships, Canon - Manga, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Divorce, F/F, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Genocide, Infertility, M/M, Marriage, Melodrama, Original Character(s), Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Pining, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Prison, Rare Pairings, Romance, Slow Burn, other characters not mentioned in tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-12-24 03:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 61,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21092555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Gimpel/pseuds/Griselda_Gimpel
Summary: This is a story with action, romance, melodrama, and pairings so rare that this may very well be the only story to feature them.Two years into the rebuilding of Ishval, Scar and Miles discover that there was some fine print they hadn't been told about. At the same time, Olivier is tasked with finding suitable husbands for her sisters Amue and Strongine -- and what better matches than the two finest men she knows?---Follows Love Amidst the Northern Peaks but can be read as stand-alone. COMPLETE.





	1. Chapter 1

Scar ground his teeth and clenched his hands as the Ishvalan sun beat down on him. The newly constructed train station didn’t offer any shade. It consisted of just a couple of benches and a ticket booth. The train station was one of the first things rebuilt in Ishval. The tracks now continued into and under and through the Settlement, which was what everyone called the first rebuilt city of Ishval. A few feet away, Major Miles stood impassively, but Scar could see the sweat on the back of his neck.

The words from last week’s radio broadcast echoed in his head. “Earlier today, Brigadier General Mustang set in motion his bold new Ishvalan policy. This includes plans to initiate railway trade between Amestris and the Eastern nation of Xing, with a rebuilt Ishval serving as a center for commerce.”

Calling it “rebuilt Ishval” was a stretch bordering on a lie, and while trade had begun, there had been much of Mustang’s “bold new Ishvalan policy” that had been left out of the broadcast. Of course, those bits only affected the surviving Ishvalans.

“Let me talk to him first,” Miles said mildly.

“Soldiers, Miles!” Scar exploded. “Soldiers forced our brethren out of their homes -- their homes that I built for them!”

“That’s why I need to talk to Mustang,” Miles said, just as mildly. “It’s why I asked him to come here in person.”

“Fine!” Scar said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I get to talk to him after you’re done.”

Miles cocked an eyebrow at Scar. “Talk?”

“Yes,” Scar said through gritted teeth. “Talk. Murdering him would constitute creating negative flow in the world.”

There was a whistle in the distance, and then the train pulled into the Ishvalan station. The travelers poured out. There were Ishvalans returning home with hope in their eyes, which flickered as they saw the sparseness of the train station. Scar gave them a nod and received grateful smiles in return. There were Amestrian soldiers transporting supplies. Scar scowled at them, and they hurried away with their loads. A nation couldn’t be rebuilt without supplies, but one nasty detail of Mustang’s “bold new Ishvalan policy” was that nothing came without a price tag.

Finally, Brigadier General Roy Mustang and Captain Riza Hawkeye stepped off the train. Miles stepped forward and shook Mustang’s hand warmly.

“You wanted to talk?” Mustang asked, but there was no surprise in his voice. Hawkeye eyed Scar warily, but she clearly had expected his presence. Scar had heard from Miles that Major General Armstrong had informed them of his survival. Technically, they could have had him arrested, but from what he gathered, they did not feel that was worth the riot that would have ensured. Scar might have been a wanted criminal in Amestris, but he was a hero in Ishval.

“Here is fine,” Miles said, leading the quartet to the benches.

“It’s kind of hot, don’t you think?” Mustang asked.

“Then you should have had a proper train station built,” Scar snapped. Miles shot him a Look, and Scar fell silent.

“I kept my word,” Mustang said, and Scar had to bite his lip to keep himself from retorting.

“When we discussed plans for Ishval to be rebuilt,” Miles began diplomatically, “it was assumed that Ishval would belong to the Ishvalans.”

Mustang moved his shoulders like a snake trying to get out of an old skin. “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the best I could manage. The rebuilding process hasn’t been cheap, you must understand.”

“So land rights for rebuilding funds?” Miles asked. “That was the deal from the beginning?” He didn’t have to add “and I wasn’t told about it.”

“At least the Ishvalans have homes,” Mustang said. “They just have to pay rent, is all.”

Scar clenched and unclenched his fists. The apartment complex where he lived was owned by Anthony Comanche, son of the late Major Giolio Comanche. It did not surprise him that the younger Comanche had money to invest in Ishvalan land. He had been his father’s only heir, and the State Alchemists had been paid handsomely for the carnage they had wrecked during the Extermination Campaign.

“You’re the Führer’s favorite general,” inveigled Miles. “Surely you could influence him to a greater degree.”

“I _tried_,” Mustang said, an edge starting to come into his voice.

“I tried, as well, sir,” Hawkeye said, speaking up for the first time. Scar and Miles looked at her in confusion, and she looked off at nothing in the distance. “Grumman’s sort of my grandfather.”

“Sort of?” Miles echoed.

“My mother was estranged from her family,” Hawkeye explained. “I didn’t know of the relation until after he became Führer.” She shot Mustang a Look that would have made Miles proud.

Mustang coughed and looked guilty. “I didn’t know _that_ much earlier!” he protested. “Besides, he made me promise not to say anything.”

“Then I would think he owes you, wouldn’t you say?” Miles asked.

Mustang hunched his shoulders in frustration. “Look, I tried,” he said. “I really did. But building a region from the ground up isn’t cheap. The only way I could get _anything_ was with the deal we got.”

“The wealthy of Amestris fund the rebuilding and then in return it gets carved up between them?” Miles said.

Mustang held out his hands in a peacemaking gesture. “There you have it.”

“What about Scar’s contributions?” Miles asked. “His alchemy contributed to much of the rebuilding process. Does he get awarded no land?”

“His signature wasn’t on the deal,” Mustang said coldly. “His labor is considered to have been done on a volunteer basis.”

“Okay,” Miles said. “I’ve spoken my piece. Scar?”

Scar stood up. Mustang did, as well. Scar pointed a finger at Mustang’s chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawkeye’s hand creep toward her gun. Scar took a deep breath and said. “You’re a monster and a worm. The deal you cut is despicable, and you should be shot for the crimes you committed in Ishval.” Satisfied, Scar sat down again.

Mustang remained standing. He raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

Scar nodded. “Miles covered the rest.”

“You’re not going to try to kill me?” Mustang asked.

“Would smashing your face in return Ishval to my kinsmen?”

“No.”

“Then no,” Scar said.

Mustang and Hawkeye stared at Scar until finally Hawkeye spoke. “Really?”

“My master would not approve,” Scar said huffily. “I do not think Mistress Shan would, either.”

“Your…master?” Mustang asked.

Miles gave a little laugh. “You’ll know him better as the new Supreme Cleric. He was Scar’s master in the priesthood.”

“Scar’s a priest?” Mustang asked.

“Yes,” Scar said. “I am.” He stood up again. “I need to be going. Have a good evening, Miles.”

It wasn’t long back to Scar’s apartment. The entirety of rebuilt Ishval was just a tiny city. Scar lived on the first floor. It had been rented under an alias he barely bothered to remember. He had built the apartment complex with the assumption that families would be able to grow into them as time went on, but that was before Mustang’s deal had come to light.

Most of the rooms on the first floor of the apartment complex were unoccupied. That was true for most floors in most the apartment complexes in Ishval. Scar unlocked his front door and went in. Mistress Shan was reading a book to Arieh in the living room. Ishval didn’t have a proper school yet, so Mistress Shan had been handling Arieh’s education. In the kitchen, Burn was setting the food for the day on the counter. Burn was part of Ishval’s revitalized farming effort – although, of course, it was not the Ishvalans who owned the farms.

Behind Scar, the door opened again as Dr. Tim Marcoh came in. He worked at the Free Clinic with the handful of other doctors that Ishval had. After some brief greetings, Marcoh set down his medical gear, slipped on an apron, and started preparations for dinner.

Until about a week prior, Scar had lived alone. The same was true for Marcoh. Burn, Arieh, and Mistress Shan knew each other from Exile, and they had lived together in a three bedroom apartment. Arieh had a vicious scar on his left shoulder, and it hurt Scar’s heart to see one so young bearing injuries. Burn was blind in his left eye, the byproduct of the burn that covered a good bit of the left part of his face – Mustang’s handiwork. His given name wasn’t Burn, obviously, but in emulation of Scar, he’d been answering to that for years now.

When Mustang’s Deal had been announced, all of them found they were unable to afford the rent that the Amestrian soldiers were abruptly telling them was due. They’d all been turned out on the streets as a result. Scar had been tempted to fight, but he’d realized that getting roofs over the heads of his kinsmen was of higher importance. So he’d worked with his master to pair families up. Rent that couldn’t be paid alone could be paid collectively. Mistress Shan was too old to be a farmer or a laborer, Arieh needed to focus on his schooling, and Marcoh didn’t get paid for what he did, but between Scar and Burn, they were just barely able to afford the one-bedroom apartment they shared.

As the elder in the family, Mistress Shan had been given the master bedroom. Scar slept on the couch, Arieh slept on the loveseat, Burn slept on a cot that was folded up during the day, and Marcoh slept on mat in the corner of the kitchen. The kitchen also held a small pantry. On the edge of the living room – nearly spilling into the walking area – was the table that they ate at. A single bathroom was found off of the short hall that led to the master bedroom. In the living room was the memorial shrine. It consisted of a basin on a small table. The basin held one rock for each family member the household had lost, plus two for the Rockbell parents.

In the kitchen, Marcoh announced that dinner was served. The household washed up and then lined up for food, and Scar eyed the portions. Burn hadn’t been able to afford much. Burn glared angrily at the floor, as if his inability to buy more groceries was his personal fault. Marcoh saw the problem as well because after they’d sat down at the table, he slid half of his plate onto Arieh’s.

“I’m not feeling very hungry tonight,” Marcoh assured him. “Besides, you’re a growing boy. You need to eat up.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” Arieh said, smiling at him.

Marcoh almost made a motion to ruffle Arieh’s hair, but he stopped when he saw Burn glaring at him. Silence descended on the room as they ate. Scar didn’t know how to fix that. Arieh called Burn “Uncle” because their biological families had been lost, and they both got on with Mistress Shan, but she was strangely cold toward Scar. After having known him so long, Marcoh’s presence did not bother Scar, but Burn was understandably uncomfortable living in the same house as war criminal – repent or not.

Scar fiddle with the ring on his right hand. It was silver and rather thick. It had been a gift from Major General Armstrong. When he and Miles had been staying at the Armstrong Mansion in the days following the Promised Day, Miles had spied a painting of Major General Armstrong that he had admired. Major General Armstrong had laughed and insisted he have it. Then she’d given Scar the ring, saying that each of her houseguests should have a parting gift. When pressed, she had explained that both the painting and the ring had been given to her when she had achieved the rank of general. Scar had had no difficultly resizing the ring to fit his finger, and he wore it regularly. Nowadays, however, he had been keeping an eye out for an opportunity to sell it. His household needed the money more than he needed a pretty trinket.

“I spoke with Mustang today,” Scar said, to break the silence over the dinner table.

“Did you kill him?” Mistress Shan asked.

“I did not,” Scar said. “It would have not have accomplished anything.”

“Should have killed him,” Burn said.

“Burn!” chided Mistress Shan, with a pointed look at Arieh, whose eyes were very wide.

“The Flame Alchemist won’t be coming here, will he?” Arieh asked fearfully.

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Marcoh assured him.

“Too late for that,” spat Burn. Marcoh fell silent and dropped his gaze down to his food. The awkward silence returned, and Scar did not try to disrupt it again. The problem facing him was not something he knew how to solve, and he hated that.

\---

After Scar had stomped off, Miles suggested that Mustang and Hawkeye follow him to the military base, where they would be staying and where Miles had his quarters.

“So who’s Mistress Shan?” Hawkeye asked.

“Hm?”

“Scar mentioned a Mistress Shan.”

“Oh,” Miles said. “She’s one of our few remaining elders. Scar thinks she disapproves of him for some reason.”

“I thought everybody here just _loved_ Scar,” Mustang said. He rolled his eyes, and Hawkeye jabbed him with her elbow.

“There appears to be one exception,” Miles said mildly.

They picked up trays, got in line for food, and then found a table in the mess hall. Miles sat across from Mustang and Hawkeye. There were other matters of business they needed to discuss, but they ate in silent at first. It was Hawkeye who broke it.

“We won’t be shot for our crimes in Ishval,” she said abruptly.

“What?” Miles asked.

“Brigadier General Mustang and I were both tried and found Not Guilty,” Hawkeye said. Now it was Mustang’s turn to shoot her a Look.

“It’s not illegal for a soldier to follow orders,” Mustang said sullenly.

“I see,” Miles said. “Major Armstrong has not been tried yet, I take it?”

“No,” Mustang said. “How did you know?”

“Your trials were not a very public affair?” Miles asked.

“Grumman didn’t want it to be a circus,” Mustang said defensively.

“If Major Armstrong had been tried,” Miles explained, “his family at least would have known about it. So I would have heard.”

“You’re not stepping out on me with your former commanding officer, are you?” Mustang teased. His attempt to lighten the tension in the room with a joke failed to get a smile out of either Miles or Hawkeye.

“No, sir,” Miles said.

“Good,” Mustang continued. “If she won’t give me the time of the day, you’re certainly not allowed to steal her heart.”

“Major General Armstrong is a professional,” Miles said stiffly. “She would never date a direct subordinate.” He decided to change the subject. “Had you ever met our Supreme Cleric before the Promised Day?”

“Uh…no, why?” Mustang asked.

“Well, it’s just that he was living in East City during Exile,” Miles explained. “Well, in the slums outside of the city. Living conditions were terrible there. It’s a miracle that anyone survived to return home.”

“Exile?” Hawkeye asked.

“Yes,” Miles said. “That’s what everyone’s been calling it. The Period of Exile. That is in the past now, of course. Now we’re in the Period of Broken Promises.”

Mustang slammed his palms down on the cafeteria table. “Damn it, Major, I’m doing everything I can. Grumman’s old. When he’s retired, and I’ve become Führer-”

“If you didn’t help anyone as a Colonel and can’t do it as a Brigadier General, what good is becoming Führer going to do?” Miles retorted before adding “sir.”

“I helped lots of people,” Mustang countered.

“Yes,” Miles said, “Lots of Amestrians.”

“Ishvalans are Amestrian, too,” Hawkeye injected quietly.

“Like Hell we are,” Miles said.

“_We_?” Mustang echoed. “You’re, what was it, a quarter-Ishvalan?”

“My grandfather was Ishvalan enough for you to kill,” Miles snapped.

“What?” Mustang asked, taken aback.

“Some of the soldiers serving here were here during the Extermination Campaign,” Miles said coolly. “They speak very highly of you. My grandfather was the last Ishvalan killed during the Extermination Campaign. You incinerated him and his pet dog. But it wasn’t murder. You were just following orders.”

“Major-” Mustang began and then changed tactics. “The war was rough on everyone. If I hadn’t done what I did, no one would have been able to go home.”

“My grandfather didn’t get to come home,” Miles hissed.

“So, what?” Mustang asked. “You want to kill me?”

“No, _sir_,” Miles said. “I want you to stop being useless, _sir_.”

Hawkeye put a restraining hand on Mustang’s chest. “Why don’t we all turn in for the night?”

“Fine. Evening,” Miles said. He returned to his quarters, where he collapsed on his military standard bed. The portrait of Major General Armstrong hung on the wall across from him, so that it was the first thing he saw when he awoke each morning. The wall the bed was against was decorated with framed photos of himself and his late lover, Captain Buccaneer. Miles rolled over on his side and pulled his pillow over his head. They were both so far away from him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Few Notes: 
> 
> 1\. Mustang killing Miles' grandfather was a headcanon I encountered that I liked, so I decided to use it. 
> 
> 2\. In real life Just Following Orders is NOT a valid defense in court, but Amestris has a different history and so might have different legal precedents. 
> 
> 3\. Burn and Arieh are both canon characters, but they do not have names in canon. They show up during the bit where Ed goes to Xerxes.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning was Scar’s free day, so he decided to sell the ring Major General Armstrong had given him. The newly restored train system from the Xing Empire to Amestris flowed through resettled Ishval, intersecting with the Old River at the point of reconstruction. In the central market of the Settlement, the tracks were underground, as was the train station. Stairs and ramps deposited visitors right in the center of the Settlement at the market, where Xingese merchants now sold and bought wears from Amestrian merchants. Wealthy Amestrians owned inns and restaurants to serve the travelers, and businesses of leisure were beginning to cater to those visiting. A great deal of money passed through Ishval now, but only a meagerness of cens made it into the hands of the Ishvalans working to carry luggage or take meal orders or wash sheets.

Scar scowled. He personally had built much of the market via alchemy. Before that, he and Miles had drawn up the blueprints. There were shaded stalls and restaurants that families could live above. There were benches where the elderly and disabled could rest, and there was a large fountain in the very center. They aimed for it to be both functional and beautiful, a central market square that the rebuilt Ishval could be proud of. He had through it would bring wealth to his people, but all that had been snatched away with the swirl of Mustang’s pen.

A Xingese merchant walked buy. He was flanked by two bodyguards, and the Ishvalan sun sparkled off of the gold and silver of his goods.

“Merchant!” Scar called out to him in Amestrian. The Xingese merchant stopped and considered him.

“Yes?”

“I have a ring to sell.” Scar took the ring off his finger and held it up for the merchant to examine. The merchant did not look at it, however. Instead, he averted his eyes and held up his hands in a rejecting gesture.

“I’m sorry,” the merchant said. “I don’t deal in stolen goods. Have a nice day.” He turned abruptly and began to move away from Scar, his bodyguards following.

“It’s not stolen,” Scar protested, but the merchant had already left.

“I’ll give you 1,000 cens for it,” Scar heard a voice say. He turned to see an Amestrian merchant had wormed his way up next to Scar and was looking at Scar hopefully.

“That’s ridiculous,” Scar said. “This ring was given to me by Major General Armstrong herself. It is worth far more than that.”

The merchant cocked an eye. “Oh? And what did the infamous Scar do for Major General Armstrong to merit such a gift?” This was followed by the merchant giving Scar a lewd once over before he snickered.

“Careful,” a new voice said. “The Major General has ears everywhere. She would not take kindly to you speaking of her in such manner.”

“I need to be going,” the merchant said hastily, and disappeared into the crowd. Scar turned to find a soldier standing behind him. Even without the mention of Major General Armstrong, Scar would have suspected he was a Briggs man. The soldiers who’d served under Major Miles tended to be less on edge around Ishvalans, and the man before him had a relaxed manner.

The soldier gave a half bow. “My name is Liam Roach. I’m Major General Armstrong’s adjunct. She sent me. She cordially invites you to pay her a visit at the Armstrong Mansion to discuss the future of Ishval. Today is your off day, I believe?”

“It is,” Scar said. “Lead the way.”

Roach headed toward the train station, and Scar was not surprised to see Major Miles already waiting there. Due to the trade between Amestris and Xing, the trains came and went frequently, and it was not long before Scar and Miles were headed to Central City, with a change of trains in East City. They rode in silence until they reached their destination. As soon as they exited the train in Central City, Roach ushered the two men to a private car, which took them the rest of the way to the Armstrong Mansion.

A maid opened the door to let the trio in, and they entered to find a lovely young woman standing there. Miles stepped forward, tucked one arm behind his back, bowed, and kissed her hand.

“Good day, Miss Catherine,” he said. “You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

“Major Miles!” squealed Catherine. “How nice to see you!” She peered around Miles. “Is that Scar?”

“Yes,” Scar said. “Hello.”

“Hello, Miss Catherine,” said Roach. “We’re here to see Major General Armstrong.”

“Olivier is in the Green Drawing Room,” Catherine said. “Here, I’ll show you the way.”

Even though Scar had spent his recovery after the Day of Reckoning at the Armstrong Mansion, he still got lost in the twists and turns of the halls. There were so many doors leading to so many rooms. Eventually they arrived at a room Scar didn’t think he’d been in before. It contained little tables and cushioned chairs, and the curtains about the windows were an olive green color.

“Thank you, Catherine,” Major General Armstrong said when they arrived. She motioned for Scar and Miles to sit after Catherine left. Liam Roach waited at the doorway, his back to them, ensuring that they weren’t interrupted.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Major General?” Miles asked.

“I’ve heard what happened in Ishval,” Major General Armstrong said. “I had no part in Mustang’s deal.”

“I’m glad your guilt is assuaged,” Scar said snippily.

“Why not?” Miles asked at the same time. Scar looked at him in confusion, and Miles continued. “If you’re looking for the rich to fund your restoration effort, why not invite the Armstrong family to the table? They’re the richest family in Amestris. That’s a lot of funds not to tap into.”

“Exactly,” Major General Armstrong said. “Not only that, but none of the signers of the deal have been willing to sell to me.”

Scar stared at her thoughtfully. “Why not?”

“I’m guessing because it would cause that bottom to fall out on their theft,” Miles said. He turned to Scar. “How many units in your apartment building are empty?”

“More than half,” Scar said.

“So Comanche is losing money on those units,” Miles explained. “Because he still has to pay taxes on them even if he has no renters.”

Scar was beginning to see where this was going. “If he had too few renters, he’d have to sell.”

“Exactly,” said Major General Armstrong. “If I’d been able to buy some of the units from Comanche or any of the others, I could have turned the deeds for them over to any Ishvalan family living in them. Comanche would find himself with no renters, and he would have had no choice but to sell me the rest of his units. Rinse and repeat. It would have taken a bit of time, but the Armstrong family fortune would have covered it.”

“Which is probably why you weren’t invited to the table,” Miles said.

“So why have an untenable situation?” Scar asked. “Comanche is never going to fill those units any time soon. We simply can’t afford his prices, even if we had the raw numbers.”

“I do not know that yet,” Major General Armstrong said. “However, whatever happens, it’s going to cost the Armstrong family a pretty penny, and while I could care less, my family returned from Xing.”

“You’re still the family head, sir,” Miles pointed out.

“And as the family head, I have responsibilities, as I was recently reminded,” Major General Armstrong said. “To that end, I hope to kill two birds with one stone. My sisters are unmarried. If they had good, Ishvalan husbands, any investment in Ishval would be an investment in their future, as well.”

Miles’ eyes went wide. “Wait, sir, are you talking about us?”

“Who else would I be talking about?” Major General Armstrong snapped.

Scar spoke up. “I’m sure Miss Catherine is a lovely girl, but I rather think she’s too young for the Major or I.”

“I’m not talking about Catherine,” said Major General Armstrong. “I want to match-make you with my sisters Amue and Strongine.”

“Oh,” said Miles. There was a look on his face, like he understood something that Scar didn’t. A split second later he added, “I’ll do it.”

Scar, however, was frowning. “But they’re not Ishvalan!” he protested at last.

Miles gave him a sidelong look. “You have a problem with that?”

“It’s…it’s…” Scar sputtered. “I just never consider it,” he said finally.

“My parents are from different cultures,” Miles reminded him. “Both sets of my grandparents were, too.”

Scar considered him. “I forget that,” he admitted.

“Everyone does,” Miles said.

“There’s another issue,” Scar said. “As a priest, I am forbidden to prostitute myself.” The prohibition dated back to ancient times, when there’d been rival sects who’d disagreed on the matter. 

“What?” Major General Armstrong asked.

“You want me to marry your sister so that you’ll give money to Ishval,” Scar said. “That’s prostitution.”

“If I ask Miss Amue out,” Miles said, “Miss Strongine won’t be too upset, will she? Miss Amue is older, after all.”

Scar rolled his eyes. “It’s not like ‘Miss Strongine’ won’t be able to find a good, Amestrian husband.”

“She hasn’t so far,” Major General Armstrong muttered darkly.

“What? Why not?”

“Oh, I guess you haven’t met them,” Miles said. He pulled a face. “Let’s say Miss Amue and Miss Strongine resemble their brother more than Miss Catherine or the Major General here.”

Scar conjured up a picture of Major Armstrong in his mind. Suddenly he understood. “Do you mean to tell me that your sisters don’t fit some standard of beauty and therefore have been denied the happiness of matrimony?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Major General Armstrong.

“Excuse me,” Scar said. Standing up, he walked up to Roach. “Please show me the exit. I need to leave.”

With that, Scar was gone. Major General Armstrong and Miles stared at each other.

“There’s going to be a family dinner tonight,” Major General Armstrong said, resuming the conversation. “Charm my family and then ask me for my permission to allow you to court Amue.”

“Yes, sir,” Miles said. They enjoyed a lunch after that. Then Major General Armstrong had duties she needed to attend to, as she would be returning to Fort Briggs before long, but she insisted Miles take one of the horses out for a ride, reminding him again that he was no longer her adjunct and that Roach would attend to those duties.

As for Scar, he didn’t go far after exiting the mansion. Rather than leave the property, he circled it until he encountered a gardener.

“How can I help you, sir?” the gardener asked.

“I need iron and sand and aluminum if you have it,” Scar informed him. Gold and silver might have been better, but he did not want to take anything that wasn’t already being discarded.

“Is this an alchemy thing?” the gardener asked.

“It is,” said Scar.

The gardener nodded. “I have some used horseshoes. Will those work?”

“They will,” Scar said.

“Then follow me,” the gardener said. “They’re in the East Shed. There are some bags of sand in there, as well. Some scrap aluminum, too.”

“Thank you,” Scar said.

During his stay at the Armstrong Mansion following the Day of Reckoning, he had spent his recovery reading books on alchemy from the Armstrong family library. Combined with his experience with the Xingese merchant that morning, an idea was forming in his head.

After Miles had finished his ride, he took the horse back to the stables and brushed her down and gave her some oats. Then a maid showed him to his room. Opening the door, he found it decorated with exercise charts and bodybuilding posters. The guest room he had stayed in the previous time had been extravagant itself, but this room blew that one out of the water.

“Was this Major Armstrong’s room?” Miles asked.

The maid sniffed and answered stiffly, “Yes. The Mistress still won’t allow him on the property. She insisted you have his room.”

Miles was not surprised to see a dress military uniform in his size laid out on the bed. Discarding his goggles and the clothes he had on, he showered and then got ready for the dinner. A different maid showed him the way to the dining hall where they would be eating. The Armstrong Mansion had several, after all.

\---

Strongine Armstrong prepared herself for the dinner with her older sister Amue. Olivier had hinted that something important would happen at dinner, and they had seen Major Miles riding his horse from the windows of the Armstrong Mansion.

“It’ll be Catherine,” Strongine said. “Major Miles is going to ask her out.”

“Olivier,” countered Amue. “It’s obvious that he adores her.”

Strongine shook her head. “You know our Olive. I can’t picture it. He’d never catch her eye.”

Amue playfully hit her with her rouge brush. “Oh, be nice,” she said. “He’s plenty good looking. Besides, remember Laurence?”

They donned dresses, applied makeup, and styled their hair. Strongine tied ribbons in Amue’s curls, and Amue used the prettiest hairpin to keep Strongine’s bone straight hair out of her eyes. In the dining room, they greeted the family and then turned as their guest arrived.

Major Miles bowed to Olivier first, then to her parents, and then to her three sisters in turn. They bid their greetings in return. Olivier hadn’t come home often before the Promised Day, but she had on occasion, and Major Miles had accompanied her. In all honesty, neither Amue nor Strongine had paid much attention to him previously, but now they sized him, noting the neatness of his dress uniform and the redness of his eyes. They both realized with a start that they hadn’t seen him without his snow goggles on before; without them, his Ishvalan heritage was undeniable.

“Major General Armstrong,” Major Miles said, once greetings were complete, “I’d like to make a request.”

“Continue,” Olivier said.

“I’d like to request your permission to court your sister Amue,” Miles said.

“What?” This came from Amue.

“Oh my,” was the response of the mother of the family.

“But…” the father of the family started to reply, but fell silent when Olivier gave him a Look.

“Yay!” said Catherine.

“I’m happy for you,” Strongine whispered, trying to keep the rising jealousy out of her voice. She could feel the tears starting to come and blinked rapidly to stop them from falling. She really didn’t want to ruin Amue’s special day. It was just that their lack of suitors had been easier to bear when they could bear it together.

“Are you interested?” Olivier asked Amue.

“Oh…um…what…uh…I mean yes!” Amue stuttered.

“Then permission granted,” Olivier said. “Major, why don’t you take the empty seat next to Amue, and we’re get dinner started.”

As they waited for the food arrived, everyone at the table wanted to engage Major Miles in conversation.

“Do you lift weights?” asked Catherine excitedly.

“Your sister made us lift bears up at Briggs,” Major Miles informed her seriously.

“Well, I wasn’t going to have a dead bear carcass sitting in the front hall of the fort!” Olivier retorted.

“As I recall,” Major Miles teased, “you were the one who killed it.”

“I don’t recall you complaining about the bear stew we had later, soldier,” Olivier countered.

“Mm…that was good,” Major Miles conceded.

“I hope that the dinner tonight doesn’t disappoint,” said the mother of the family.

“I have no doubt it will astound,” Major Miles assured her. “You have excellent chefs here.”

“So what percentage Ishvalan are you?” asked the father of the family curiously.

Major Miles shook his head. “You either are Ishvalan or you aren’t. I’m Ishvalan – I’m just not only Ishvalan.”

“What the rest of your heritage?”

“Xingese, Aerugan, and Amestrian,” Major Miles answered.

“Do you speak Xingese?” Amue asked.

“Only a little,” Major Miles said, “and only recently. With all the Xingese traders coming and going from Ishval, it’s useful. I’ve got a long way to go.”

“I tried to learn a little when we were staying there, but it’s a dreadfully difficult language to learn,” Amue said. “I don’t have a tongue for tones.”

“Did you only ask my sister out because Olive forced you to do it?” Strongine asked, but she said it so quietly, it came out as an indistinct mumble.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Major Miles asked.

“I said, ‘You had better make my sister happy, or else, buster.’”

Major Miles laughed. “I promise to treat her like a queen.”

“Oh, I thought Olive was your queen?” Amue teased.

“Not anymore,” Major Miles said. “I’m under Brigadier General Mustang’s command now, and I’ve got no intention of him being my queen. So it’ll have to be you, Miss Amue.” Major Miles took Amue’s hand and kissed it, causing her to blush scarlet.

The family had just started on the appetizer course when Scar entered the dining room. His hair was still wet from the shower, and the fresh priestly robes he was wearing did not fit properly, being the right length but too tight around the chest. The fabric strained with every twitch of his muscles. To his chest he clutched something hidden by an old burlap sap.

“Ah, Scar,” said Olivier. “So nice of you to join us. I see you found the clothes provided. This is my father, my mother, and my sisters Amue, Strongine, and Catherine.”

“Yes,” Scar said in response. He walked over to Strongine. “You are Strongine Armstrong, correct?”

“I am.”

“My people bear burns and scars. They are missing eyes and limbs. It is true that you most closely resemble your vile brother, but your brother’s sins do not lay in his looks.”

“What are you saying?”

“Nobody should be denied the happiness of matrimony,” Scar said. He held out the burlap sack. “Strongine Armstrong, I’d like to ask you to be my wife.”

“What?” This came from Amue.

“Oh my!” said the mother of the family.

“Yay!” said Catherine.

“But he’s an outlaw!” exclaimed the father of the family.

“In-law,” Olivier corrected. “I grant my approval to this union, provided Strongine wishes it.”

Strongine didn’t answer right away. She was unwrapping the burlap sack. Inside was a necklace of precious gemstones set in iron. The centerpiece was an enormous opal that sat in the center. Rubies and sapphires were set in an alternating pattern that swept up the neck, and all of the gemstones were circled by a ring of tiny topazes.

“It’s beautiful,” Strongine whispered. “And sturdy. I love it! But...why?”

“It’s the _mahriyeh_,” Scar said. When he saw that Strongine did not understand, he fumbled for an explanation. “Should I dishonor you before or during our marriage – which I would not do, but if I did - the necklace can be sold for you to support yourself until the time in which you can remarry. In Amestrian, the term is, er, dowry.”

“No it’s not,” Olivier said.

“It’s not?”

“What you just described is different,” Olivier said. “The dowry is Strongine’s portion of the Armstrong inheritance that will – due to an atrocious law Bradley had passed and Grumman has so far neglected to get repealed – legally become yours when you are wed.”

“I am not marrying Strongine to secure your support for Ishval,” Scar said firmly. “I told you that I will not prostitute myself.”

“That’s also not the dowry,” Olivier said. She shot a glance at Amue, who was staring stone-faced ahead at Scar’s words.

“Look, it doesn’t matter what it is,” Strongine interrupted. “We can figure it out later because I accept Scar’s marriage proposal. Yes, Scar of Ishval, I will be your wife!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it's Chapter 2 out of 24, Miles is dating Amue, and Scar is marrying Strongine, so I guess everything's smooth sailing from here on out. Well okay. That's it. Fan fiction over. 
> 
> (Kidding.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least at the moment, this is the longest chapter.

After dinner had finished, Amue and Strongine insisted on giving Miles and Scar a tour of the Armstrong Mansion.

“You know we stayed here before, right?” Miles laughed as Amue pulled him out of his chair.

“Yes, but you haven’t been given a tour by _us_,” Amue said.

“Right,” Strongine agreed. “You haven’t gotten the full experience.”

“I still get lost in this place,” Scar intoned.

“I imagine your place in Ishval is rather smaller,” Strongine said.

“It is,” Scar said.

“This way to the East Wing!’ Amue declared, and the tour began.

“Do you wish to wait to consummate our marriage until we are officially wed?” Scar asked as they walked.

“What?” Strongine asked, blushing.

“You mentioned homes,” Scar explained. “I did not know if you wished to move in with me right away or stay at an inn first.”

“What does Ishvala say?” Miles asked, a teasing grin on his face.

“Because we are promised to each other, Ishvala is forgiving,” Scar said, “though it is more proper to wait.”

“We can wait then,” Strongine said, her face still beat red. “I’ll stay at an inn.”

“As for you, mister soldier,” Amue said to Miles, wagging a finger at him, “not on the first date.”

Miles gave a sweeping bow. “I will be a perfect gentleman.”

Strongine giggled and then saw an opportunity. “So Olive is going to be supporting Ishval, huh?” she started.

Miles nodded. Amue smiled tersely.

“She wanted you and your sister married off in exchange,” Scar said bluntly.

“Well, I think it’s _so_ romantic,” Strongine said. When she saw Amue look at her, she continued. “It’s like one of those novels you love so much, where the fate of the country rests on our heroine marrying the dashing lord she’s never met.”

“Major General Armstrong would not abandon Ishval even if Miss Amue had rejected my courtship offer,” Miles said firmly. “She is not that sort of person.”

“This is the gun room,” Amue said. She looped her arm through Miles and pulled him close.

“I would think it would be called the armory,” said Scar.

“No, that’s a different room,” Strongine said.

They turned the corner and heard voices from one of the rooms.

“You’re the one who said it was my responsibility to find suitors for Amue and Strongine.” That was Olivier.

“But Ishvalans, Olive? I simply can’t approve.” That was the father of the family.

“Seeing as you’re no longer the head of the family, you don’t have to.”

“Let’s do this hall later,” Amue said, leading the group a different way.

“Father has always been rather old fashion,” said Strongine.

“In all honesty, I was expecting this,” Miles said. “But Major General Armstrong is right. It’s her opinion that matters.”

“Your father suffers from the sin that plagues this country,” Scar said.

They continued on, and then Amue asked, “Will we be accepted in Ishval?”

“People will come around,” said Miles.

“You will likely get different reactions from different peoples,” Scar said. “But you are not State Alchemists. Nor are you murderous soldiers. And you are not to blame for your brother’s crimes.”

Strongine bit her lip and looked down. “I don’t imagine Alex will be able to come to the wedding.”

“No,” said Scar. “The wedding will be attended by the families and friends of his victims.”

“This is the billiard room,” Amue said in an overly chipper voice.

“What is it for?” Scar asked.

“Entertainment,” Amue explained.

The tour continued until they turned in for the night. In the morning, Amue and Strongine packed the things they wished to take with them to Ishval, and the car took them to the train station. The ride back was uneventful until the stop at the New Optain station, at which point a gaggle of clowns joined the car that Scar, Miles, Amue, and Strongine were in.

“Mr. Scar! I thought you were dead!” exclaimed one of the clowns. Scar peered at him closely and realized that he was staring at Yoki.

“Oh, you,” Scar said. “Why are you dressed as a clown?”

“It’s my job,” Yoki said. “I’m in the circus now. Darius and Heinkel run it. Remember them?”

“Yes, from the Day of Reckoning,” Scar said. “But why are you dressed as a clown now? Are you doing a train show?”

“Oh, right,” Yoki said. “There was a mix-up with transportation arrangements. As this was my fault, I took responsibility and put together an impromptu show to raise the necessary funds. We only just finished right before the train arrived, so there was no time to get out of costume. Figured we can do that on the train. I’ll let the guys use the bathroom first.” Yoki gestured to the other clowns in turn. “This is David, Pat, Mark, Steve, and Maximillian. Guys, this is Mr. Scar and Major Miles. I don’t know the lovely ladies they’re traveling with.”

Amue smiled. “I’m Amue Armstrong. This is my sister Strongine.”

Strongine held out her hand, and Yoki bowed down and kissed it. “Scar and I have just become engaged,” Strongine explained.

“Congratulations!” Yoki said.

“Why are you acting like this?” Scar asked.

“Like what?” Yoki asked.

“Like…not you,” Scar explained.

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t tried to steal any of my bride’s jewelry,” Scar pointed out.

Yoki looked affronted. “I am a reformed man,” Yoki insisted. Scar looked at him doubtfully. “I supposed we never got a chance to catch up with each other after we parted ways after Asbec. Well, I got a taste of Heroism on the Promised Day and was Changed.”

Scar nodded. “Marcoh did say you struck a small child with your car.”

“He was a dangerous homunculus!” Yoki protested.

“Which way are you heading?” Miles cut in.

“Ishval,” Yoki said. “We heard it booming now, so we thought we’d do the circuit.”

“There truth is a little more complicated,” Miles said and caught Yoki up on what had transpired.

“That’s terrible!” Yoki exclaimed when he had finished. “Let me talk to Darius and Heinkel. We generally charge cheap for the standing area. I’ll bet we can manage something. It sounds like the Ishvalans need our show most of all.” Still clad in clown attire, Yoki hurried off.

After they arrived in Ishval, Miles and Scar took Amue and Strongine to one of the inns, where they rented adjoining rooms. Then Miles headed back to his quarters on the base, and Scar headed home.

Mistress Shan and Arieh looked up from their lessons when he came in.

“You’re alive!” Arieh exclaimed, dashing over and throwing his arms around Scar’s waist.

“I did not mean to make you worry,” Scar said, guilt creeping in on him. A week had not been enough for him to become accustom to living with other people.

“Where have you been?” Mistress Shan asked.

“Central City,” Scar explained. “I am now engaged to get married.”

“What?”

“She is Amestrian.”

“What?”

“Also, we should go to the circus tonight.”

“What?”

Scar explained what had transpired. Then he explained it again when Burn came home from work. Burn didn’t comment on Scar’s absence, but the relief was plain on his face. When Marcoh arrived home shortly after that, Scar repeated the story for the third time. Then for a fourth time, as Marcoh had been too distraught – babbling “And I could hardly focus all day I was so worried about you; I thought the soldiers had arrested you, and I don’t know what I would have done!” – that he hadn’t processed when Scar had said. Eventually, however, the entire household was on the same page.

“I am sorry,” Scar said, “for worrying all of you.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Mistress Shan said.

“I knew you’d be able to handle yourself, whatever the situation,” Burn said.

“Yeah,” Arieh echoed. “You’re the greatest! You killed the Führer so we could all come home!”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Marcoh said. “Better than okay, in fact – you’re getting married!”

“Hmph,” said Mistress Shan. “I suppose in that case, you should take the master bedroom. You can’t exactly make a marriage bed out of a couch.”

“You are one of our precious elders,” Scar said. “I couldn’t.”

“Pish posh,” Mistress Shan said. “I insist. I survived living in the ruins of Xerxes. I can survive living on a couch.” She gestured to the couch in question. It was currently covered with the household’s laundry, which Mistress Shan had washed earlier and Arieh had folded. Usually, it would have been put away by now, but Scar’s arrival had proved to be a distraction.

“Thank you,” Scar said. “Now, let’s eat dinner quickly so we’re not late for the show.” The family took turns washing up, ate dinner, and as Scar washed the dishes afterward and Arieh put away the laundry, another idea began to form in his mind.

It was not a far walk to where the circus had set up. Scar was impressed by how quickly they had gotten ready. There was a huge, striped tent in what previously had been a large, empty lot. The woman at the ticket booth informed them that it was 2,000 cens to sit at the raised benches or 2 cens for standing room. Scar paid for everyone to have standing room. Then they wormed their way to the front of the standing area, and Scar quickly used alchemy to make a sandstone seat for Mistress Shan.

“Nice idea,” said the man next to them, and Scar looked and saw Simon Segal and his family were next to them. Scar had first met Simon in Asbec. Simon had two biological sons – the twins Elior and Ilan – as well as an adopted son - Dror Klein. Simon had explained that the Kleins and the Segals had been next door neighbors, so when the Klein parents had been killed by the Strongarm Alchemist, Simon and his wife Sarah had taken in Dror, who’d only been an infant at the time. Tragically, Sarah had passed away during the Period of Exile.

“Mr. Scar! Mr. Scar!” said Ilan, jumping up and down. “Is it true that Mr. Yoki is going to be the star of the show?”

“He will be in the show,” Scar assured him. The boys had had a great deal of fun playing with Yoki in Asbec. Yoki had had rather less fun.

Scar glanced around as the standing area as benches began to fill up. The standing area was packed with Ishvalans, while the benches seated mostly Amestrians and people from Xing. Burn saw where Scar was looking.

“Says it all, doesn’t it?” Burn muttered darkly.

Scar nodded. Then he spotted Strongine sitting with her sister Amue and Major Miles. She waved at him, and he waved back.

“Who’s that?” Burn asked.

“My bride,” Scar said. “Strongine Armstrong.”

“You didn’t mention that she had a sister,” Burn said, smiling. He nodded at Amue. “Strong woman. I approve.”

“I did tell the story in a rush,” Scar admitted. “She actually has three sisters. The one sitting with her is Amue. She is courting Major Miles.”

The smile fled Burn’s face. “Is she now?”

“Yes.”

“You mentioned other sisters. They look the same?”

“No. One is small and willowy. You would not like her. The other would cut you for looking at her like that.”

“That’s a shame,” Burn said. “Oh, the show is starting.”

The show was indeed starting. The clowns ruled the first part. David the Clown drove a tiny clown car with a large trailer hitched behind it. He drove in a tight, zig-zag, circling pattern until finally crashing into the central post. (David braked hard before impact, and the front of the car was a cleverly disguised cushion. Smoke poured out from the engine when Pat flipped the right switch, but there’d be no damaged to either the post or the car.)

The car was small, but there was virtually nothing inside but the clowns. Tight fit though it was, Yoki and the other clowns waited patiently. David flung open the driver’s side door and clambered out, his big clown shoes slapping against the ground.

“Well, phooey!” David declared, projecting his voice so that the crowd could hear him. “Okay, boys, everyone out.” David opened up the undersized passenger’s side door, allowing the other clowns to exit one by one. This bit always got laughs from the crowd, and this day was no different. The clowns examined the “busted” car.

“We’ll need to send someone to get help!” Yoki declared.

“I could start walking,” offered Steve.

“No time,” said Mark. “In this heat, you’d die before you found anyone.”

“There’s only one option,” Maximillian stated. “We’ll have to use the cannon.”

“Is that safe?” David asked. The other clowns made a shrugging motion.

Yoki rolled up his sleeves, although they of course flopped right back down again. “We have no choice,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Mark and Steve opened the trailer, pulled down the ramp, and rolled out the cannon. It wasn’t a real cannon, of course. It would make noise and smoke, but what would propel Yoki was a giant spring inside. There was a net hidden from view with an assortment of crates, and Yoki would land on that. He’d flop and roll and look ungainly, but there wouldn’t be any injuries.

David turned to the crowd. “So it must be,” he declared. “We will launch Yoki the Clown out of this cannon so that he might find help before succumbing to dehydration. Well, Yoki, my good clown, into the cannon you go.”

“Yes, sir!” Yoki said saluting. He slipped his body into the cannon, so that he was inside it up to his chest.

“Are you ready?” Maximillian asked after pulling an oversized torch from the trailer and lighting it.

“Of course not!” Yoki declared.

“What is it?” asked Pat.

“I’m not wearing a helmet!” Yoki shrieked.

“Yes, of course, a helmet!” David agreed, slapping his forehead. “How could we forget?”

Pat ran over to the trailer and came back with a cooking pot, which she set on Yoki’s head. There was laughs from the crowd.

“Now I’m ready,” Yoki said. He nodded his head, causing the cooking pot to slip down over his eyes, which got more laughs from the crowd.

“Then fire away!” David shouted.

“Noooo!” came a trio of voices from the crowd as the show went awry. Yoki lifted the cooking pot up in time to see three of the boys from the standing area pelting across the show area. As they came closer, he recognized them as Dror, Elior, and Ilan from Asbec.

“Oh, dear,” Yoki said quietly.

“You leave Mr. Yoki alone!” Elior shouted at David, kicking him in his shins. At the same time, Ilan was trying to wrestle the torch from Maximillian, who was desperately trying to stop anyone from being accidentally burned. Dror, for his part, was tugging at Yoki’s sleeve, trying to get him out of the cannon.

Yoki realized that it was up to him to salvage events. He pulled himself easily out of the cannon and shouted, “We’re saved! Help has arrived! There’s no need to fire me out of the cannon after all!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the boys’ father, Simon, had also come into show area and was attempting to corral the boys. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized quietly to Yoki. “Executive Order #3066 was still in effect when we were in exile.” He jerked his head to the cannon. “Terrible things could happen to any Ishvalan who got caught by the military. There were rumors…well…”

Yoki looked at the cannon as comprehension dawned. “Yeesh. I never did anything like that!” More than a pinch of guilt crept into him. He’d pressed the occasional apprehended Ishvalan into working the most dangerous mine jobs in exchange for not having them executed. He took a deep breath. He wasn’t that person anymore. He was a Hero now, and Heroes behaved Heroically.

“Come on boys,” Simon said.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Yoki assured him. “They can stay here. We needed some volunteers for the next bit, anyway.” He addressed the boys and spoke quietly. “Do you three want to help us face down a lion man? Don’t really; he’s actually friendly. He just pretends to be mean for the show.”

The rest of the show continued without a hitch, and when it was over, Yoki ducked under the rope barrier that separated the show area from the standing area and bobbed up to Scar.

“You all must join Heinkel, Darius, and I for drinks afterward,” Yoki insisted.

“I’m afraid we can’t afford such frivolities,” Scar said. “Alcohol is more expensive than circus tickets.”

“My treat,” Yoki said.

Scar nodded. “I see. The shapeshifter who we thought was destroyed survived after all and is impersonating Yoki.”

Yoki’s jaw dropped a bit. “Was that…did you just make a joke, Mr. Scar?”

Marcoh beamed. “That’s his third one,” he said happily. “He’s also smile seven times and laughed four. Ishval has been good for him.”

Scar cast a sidelong look at Marcoh, but before he could say anything, Mistress Shan spoke up. “Well, I’m afraid young Arieh won’t be joining you. I’ll take him home. You men have fun.”

“What’s the best bar in Ishval?”

“The Oasis,” Burn said.

Yoki frowned. “Is that where the locals go?”

Burn shook his head. “No, if we can afford it, we go to The Watering Hole.”

Yoki shouted to one of the other clowns, “Hey, Pat, tell Darius and Heinkel to meet us at The Watering Hole.” Pat returned a thumbs up sign.

“Are they not invited?” Marcoh asked curiously.

Yoki made a face. “I’m afraid Pat and the rest are High Letoists. They don’t drink.” He lowered his voice to a mutter. “And when it’s just Darius, Heinkel, and I, I feel like a third wheel.”

“Let us be off then,” Scar said. They had barely made it to the exit when they encountered Miles, Amue, and Strongine.

“Your lovely bride must join us for drinks,” Yoki said. “The major and his paramour, too.”

“What do you think, Miss Amue?” Miles asked. “Do you want to get drinks?”

“Well, do you?” Amue asked back.

Strongine, who seemed to understand something Scar didn’t, rolled her eyes. “Come on you two. Let’s get drinks.” She lowered her voice so only Scar could hear. “We’ll be here all night otherwise. Amue isn’t like Olive.”

It did not take long for the group to reach The Watering Hole, which thankfully could provide a large table. Yoki ordered a round of drinks.

“What’s your relation to Scar?” Amue asked Burn after they had all gotten settled.

“None,” Burn said. “I just live with him. It’s the only way we can afford to make the rent.”

“Scar doesn’t live alone?” Strongine asked. She cast a worried glance at Scar, who shook his head.

“I live with him, too,” Marcoh said. “As does Mistress Shan and Arieh. You’ll have a chance to meet them later, no doubt.”

“Is this a permanent arrangement?” Strongine asked.

“No,” Scar said. “Once we have found a solution to Mustang’s deal, everyone will be able to afford to have their own homes again. I have been thinking on the matter.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Marcoh asked.

“I believe so,” Scar said. “What do we have in abundance here in Ishval?”

“Sand.” It was Strongine who answered.

Marcoh smiled. “It’s true. We do have a lot of sand.”

Scar pointed at Strongine’s necklace. “That was made predominately from sand.”

Strongine brushed her hair back so that Marcoh could see it better. “Oh, Scar, it’s lovely,” Marcoh said.

“It is illegal to transmute gold,” Scar said, “and you can’t transmute gold unless you have gold to begin with. The same is not true for gemstones.”

“Do they do that in Xing?” Marcoh asked.

“I do not know,” Scar said. “I am thinking of writing to May to ask.”

“Even if they do,” Marcoh said, “there are other countries that don’t practice alchemy. You could export.”

“There is more,” Scar said. “What do we lack here?”

“Water,” Marcoh said promptly. Like everything post-Deal, water now had a price tag attached to it. The Old River was legally the property of Sinclair Kimblee, second cousin to Solf Kimblee. (As Solf Kimblee had had no other living relatives who’d been willing to admit relation, Sinclair Kimblee had been his de facto heir.)

Scar nodded. “But the hydrogen and oxygen of the water is not destroyed when we use it. Could we not use alchemy to make dirty water pure?”

Marcoh nodded his head vigorously. “That was never my area of expertise, but I bet we could. I’ll experiment a bit and see what I can come up with.”

“I’ll work on the gemstone idea in that case,” Scar said.

Darius and Heinkel arrived then. Scar thought they might have been holding hands when they entered, but by time they were in The Watering Hole properly, they weren’t. At the table, he heard Yoki muttered, “’Bout time you two finished.”

Scar indicated to Heinkel. “You are the one who killed Kimblee, were you not?”

“That homunculus finished him off, but I bit his throat, yeah,” Heinkel said.

“Then please allow me to toast you,” Scar said. “That man slew my family.” He raised his glass. “To Heinkel, the lion-hearted!”

“How have you been liking Ishval?” Burn asked Amue and Strongine.

“We haven’t seen much of it,” Amue answered.

“Would you like a tour tomorrow, Miss Amue?” Miles asked.

“If you’d like to give me one, Major,” Amue said.

“The circus was great, though,” Strongine said. “I love clowns!”

Yoki clutched his heart dramatically. “I weep that I did not meet you before Mr. Scar’s proposal.” Strongine and the rest of the table laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon, Elior, Ilan, and Dror are more unnamed canon characters I created backstories for. They show up during the part of the manga where Scar & Friends go to Asbec.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter builds on Love Amidst the Northern Peaks, but if you did not read it, the pertinent information is recapped.

It took Scar a few days to figure out what he wanted to write to May. They had corresponded a handful of times since the Promised Day, but every time he tried to put pen to paper now, the words wouldn’t come. What he finally managed was this:

May,

Do alchemists in Xing use their alchemy to make jewelry?

I hope you and Xiao Mei are well.

Scar

P.S.: I am to be wed two weeks before the summer solstice. Will you be in my wedding party?

He sealed it into an envelope and gave it to a mail carrier heading east.

The day Scar sent the letter off to May was the same day Simon Segal and Burn organized the farmers into a protest. They both worked at a date farm. There had historically been many such farms throughout Ishval, as the date palm was known as the Gift of Ishvala. The fruit of the date palm was delectable. On fast days, it was the first thing the faithful ate when the sun sunk below the horizon. Dry date could provide sustenance on long journeys. Lotion was made from the fruit, and medicine was made from the seeds. The seeds were also fed to animals, turned into soap, and burned for fuel. The leaves of the date palm were used in basket weaving. It was the most remarkable plant.

The farm in question had been in existence since before the Extermination Campaign, and the trees bore burn marks on many of their trunks. The original owners had been slain by the Flame Alchemist. The farm was now the legal property of Basil Cholmondeley – at least according to the government and military of Amestris.

Cholmondeley (dubiously pronounced Chum-lee) had become a State Alchemist a year and a half after the Extermination Campaign had ended. He was a bright thinker who’d reasoned that if all that was needed for a transmutation matrix was a circle, one could make the circle with the movements of one’s body rather than draw it. After much research and practice, he could transmute merely by making a circle with his hand or foot. He had demonstrated as much when he had first taken the State Alchemist exam. Then, because King Bradley had been in attendance, Cholmondeley – wanting to impress him so – had made a transmutation circle via the movements of his butt. He’d been rewarded with the coveted state certification – and the official designation The Big Booty Alchemist.

Until a week and a half prior, Simon and Burn had not known that Cholmondeley had owned the date farm. Until a week and a half prior, little in Ishval had belonged to anyone individually. People living in exile have few belongings and little money. When Ishval had been authorized for resettlement, the first Ishvalans to return worked on the principle of getting done what needed to get done. Scar had made buildings and revitalized wells. Those who were too old for physical labor educated those who were too young for it. The farmers worked to reclaim the land that had lain fallow. Food was supplied by the military. There was no other feasible economic system they could have begun with.

One month and a week and half prior, all of the Ishvalans had started receiving wages, and the food the military provided stopped being free. Everyone was still getting accustomed to that when soldiers showed up demanding rent that no one could afford, which had led to the great housing reshuffle that had resulted in Scar, Burn, Marcoh, Shan, and Arieh living together.

Burn and the other farmers received a 100 cens a day. As a priest, Scar’s salary was not fixed. It was instead a combination of donations and negotiated prices for duties he performed, such as drawing up marriage contracts. Rent for the month was 3,500 cens, but because they’d not had the money for the first month, they were borrowing at 10% interest. That meant that when the month was up, Scar’s household would owe 3,535 cens (to pay back the loan) and then 3,500 more cens for the next month’s rent if they didn’t want to be turned out again. They had, however, been informed that they could borrow again if they didn’t have enough for the full amount. Scar and Burn had been putting aside some of the money they earned so that their household would have a roof over their head, but it left little to pay for food. Or anything else.

“We’re supposed to be planting new date trees today,” Burn said after he and Simon assembled the other farmers. “I say we say to Chaucer that either he doubles our wages, or we don’t do it.” Henry Chaucer was the manager for the farm, who ran things on behalf of Cholmondeley. He’d arrived in Ishval only two months prior.

“Without us, the farm doesn’t produce anything,” Simon said. “We didn’t need Chaucer for the first two years we worked this farm, and we don’t need him now.”

“Who is this Cholmondeley guy and what even makes him the property owner?” Burn asked. “Have you seen him tilling the earth or gathering fruit with us these past two years? Because I certainly haven’t!”

The other farmers shouted their agreement, and the entire workforce of the farm marched to Chaucer’s office to state their demands.

“No can do,” said Chaucer promptly. “Get back to work.”

“No,” said Simon.

“If I double your wages today,” Chaucer lectured patiently in a way that set Burn’s teeth on edge, “you’ll just want them doubled again tomorrow.”

“We want to be able to pay our rent,” Burn retorted, “which shouldn’t even be our rent.”

“I see no reason to accept that Cholmondeley owns this farm at all,” said Simon.

“What’s your name, farmer?” Chaucer asked.

“Simon Segal.”

“Well, Simon, why don’t you all go sit outside? I’ll call Cholmondeley and get this sorted out.”

“Works for us,” Burn said, and they went and sat outside. Inside, Chaucer did not call Cholmondeley. He called Sergeant Major Richard Everhart of the Ishvalan division of the Amestris military.

\---

Major Miles had been spending the day with Amue Armstrong. It wasn’t going very well.

“What would you like to do today, Miss Amue?”

“Oh, I don’t know this land, Major. Why don’t you decide?”

“I must know my lady’s wishes.”

That went on for a bit until Strongine went by with her arms full of wedding invitations and mumbled that Miles should give Amue a tour. (Strongine had the hanger of her wedding dress clenched in her teeth and so couldn’t speak very well.)

Miles had given Amue a tour until lunch time rolled around.

“Would you like to stop for lunch, Miss Amue?”

“Are you hungry, Major?”

“I can eat if you are, my love, or I can wait.”

“Oh just get lunch, for crying out loud,” snapped Strongine, who happened to be near them, ordering flowers from the florist cart.

“Where-” Miles began before Strongine interrupted.

“That place across the street. It’s great.”

They had just finished lunch when Second Lieutenant Henschel, one of the soldiers from Briggs who was now stationed in Ishval, ran panting up to them. “Major!” he shouted. “There’s a situation!”

“Forgive me, Mis Amue, but I must take this,” Miles said. “What is it, Henschel?”

“Shots fired! At the Cholmodeley date farm. You’d better come quick.”

“Lead the way,” Miles said. They arrived at the farm to find a group of tetchy soldiers pointing guns at a group of furious farmers. In the middle were three people: Burn, Simon, and Chaucer. Burn was leaning on Simon for support. Miles’ eyes scanned the area. There were no dead bodies. He breathed a sigh of relief until he spotted Everhart among the soldiers. Miles clenched his teeth.

He hadn’t been happy when Everhart had transferred to Ishval three months prior. He’d been in Central before that, but he had fought on Mustang’s side on the Promised Day. Before Central, he’d been up at Briggs, where he had been part of the one and only “friendly fire” attempt on Miles’ life. Before that, he’d been stationed in Ishval during the Extermination Campaign, slaughtering innocents under Mustang’s command.

“What happened here?” Miles demanded.

“That man fired his gun at us,” Simon said, pointing – to no one’s surprise – at Everhart. As Simon had young children, he shied away from strong language, but the anger and disgust were clear in his voice.

“The laborers were being disruptive,” Chaucer said. “I had no choice but to call the military for my own protection.”

“If you’d paid us our fair wages-” Simon started.

Miles held up a hand, and Simon fell silent. He turned to Everhart. “Did you fire your gun? At unarmed farmers?”

“Yes. No,” Everhart said. “I fired at the ground.”

Miles looked at the ground right by Burn’s feet, and he saw where it had been disturbed. His eyes darted up to Burn, who was clearly in pain. He considered his options. If he was at Briggs, he would have drawn his sword, cut Everhart down, and no soldiers would have repeated his behavior. Miles had a solid poker face, but Everhart had been at Briggs and knew how Major General Armstrong operated.

“This isn’t Briggs, Major,” Everhart said softly. “You answer to the Flame Alchemist.”

“And you answer to me,” Miles replied. “You’re on unpaid leave for a week.” He addressed Chaucer. “Guns are not to be used to resolve pay disputes. Is that clear?”

“What about our demands?” Burn shouted, speaking up for the first time.

“I intent to take a trip into Central soon,” Miles promised him. “I will speak to Cholmondeley while I am there. For now, I ask you all to please return to work.”

“You’re as bad as they are!” Burn spat.

Miles eyed Burn’s foot, where he could see red from spilt blood. “Would you like me-”

“I don’t need your help,” Burn snapped. Leaning on Simon, he hobbled off.

\---

That night, Marcoh arrived home before Burn. He was aghast when Burn limped into the house using a stick as a makeshift cane. In the other hand, he clutched the food he had purchased from the market.

“What happened?” Marcoh asked, stepping forward to help Burn get a seat.

“Bastard soldier shot me,” Burn said through gritted teeth.

“May I look at it?” Marcoh asked.

“I don’t need-”

“Yes you do,” Mistress Shan said. The door opened and then closed as Scar came home. Mistress Shan caught him up on what had transpired while Arieh took the groceries to the kitchen.

“I can cook dinner,” Arieh offered.

“Not alone you can’t,” Mistress Shan said. “I’ll supervise.”

“What was done to the soldier who did this to you?” Scar demanded.

“Our dear major gave him unpaid leave for a week,” Burn said. “Ha!”

“I will ask Miles to speak to the Flame Alchemist,” Scar said. “And if he will not, I will. I need to speak to him anyway about being my best man.” He paused thoughtfully. “Miles that is, not the Flame Alchemist.”

Burn went quiet and not just because of the pain. “I’m sure Major Miles will do what he can.”

Marcoh crouched down and examined Burn’s foot. Then he got up and returned with his medical kit. “You didn’t get hit directly,” he said, “but there is some shrapnel I need to remove. Were you on this all day?”

“I tried not to put pressure on it,” Burn said, “but if I didn’t work, we wouldn’t have had anything to eat tonight. It was hard enough getting that damn Chaucer to give me my day’s wages. He said I was an inefficient worker and so should have only gotten half pay.”

Marcoh frowned. “I wish the Free Clinic could afford a phone. I could have paid you a visit at the farm.”

“Ha!” said Burn. “Like Chaucer would have let me use the phone on the farm.”

“I’m going to start now,” Marcoh said. “This is going to hurt a bit, I’m afraid.”

Burn refused to cry out as Marcoh worked on his foot. First he removed the shrapnel. Then he cleaned and disinfected the wound. Finally, he wrapped it in bandages. Mistress Shan came in right as he was finishing up. She looked at Burn pointedly and coughed, but Burn shook his head.

“It’s basic politeness,” Mistress Shan said sharply.

“I won’t,” Burn said through gritted teeth. “Not to _him_.”

“It’s quite all right,” Marcoh said to Mistress Shan. “He doesn’t owe me gratitude.” He looked up at Burn. “Thank you for letting me to treat you. If require anything from me in the future, you need only ask.”

“Speaking of that,” Mistress Shan said, “I was hoping that you could help me with my bath tonight.”

“I am perfectly capable-” Burn began, but Mistress Shan cut him off.

“Pish posh. You’re injured. Marcoh can do it.”

“But-”

Scar nudged him with his elbow. “You shouldn’t argue with your elders.” He turned to Mistress Shan. “Still, if you would prefer my assistance, instead-”

“I’d prefer this not to be a group debate,” Mistress Shan said warily. “Marcoh’s going to help me. That’s final.”

“Yes, I would be happy to. Now, why don’t we all go taste this delicious dinner that Arieh has prepared for us?”

They washed up, took their servings, and then settled around the table.

“Not bad,” Burn said, taking a bite, which caused Arieh to beam in pride. The other adults paid their compliments, as well.

“I’m thinking about getting paid work,” Mistress Shan said conversationally. “The schools are supposed to be opening up soon, and there’s no use having me sit around here all day.”

“Assuming they don’t mess them up,” Burn remarked.

“It is a tragedy that you’d feel you’d have to labor at your age,” Scar intoned.

“Ha!” said Mistress Shan. “I labored plenty in Xerxes, and I’m not much older now. Besides, I’m thinking something easy, like bookkeeping. My hands work fine, and I’ve still got one eye left in me.”

“I can get a job, too!” Arieh offered.

“No,” said all of the adults at the table simultaneously.

“It’s not fair!” Arieh said. He did not say more because when he spoke the words, his voice cracked awkwardly.

Burn grinned at him. “You’ll be a man soon enough. Have you started getting hair in new places?”

Embarrassment raced across every inch of Arieh’s face as he unthinkingly covered his crotch area of his pants with his hands. Realizing what he’d done, tears started to well up in the corner of his eyes, and he hastily wiped them away.

“_Burn_,” Mistress Shan said in a low voice.

“What?” Burn asked defensively. “I’m proud of him.”

Marcoh cut in to change the subject. “That weather we had today, huh?”

“It was hot and didn’t rain,” Scar agreed.

When dinner was finished, Mistress Shan led Marcoh to the bath. Marcoh turned on the water and waited till the bath was a bit over half full. Mistress Shan dipped her finger in.

“It’s better than Xerxes, but I wish they’d run the water hotter.” Donkey power was used to pump the water out of the wells, and it was heated by furnaces that the Amestrian military ran. “But that would cost money, I’d imagine.”

“Would you like me to make it hotter for you with alchemy?” Marcoh asked.

Mistress Shan hesitated and then nodded her assent. “I don’t suppose you’d boil me alive with Scar right outside the door.”

There wasn’t anything Marcoh could say to that, so he took out a piece of chalk and drew a circle with the appropriate signs on the side of the bathtub. Putting away the chalk, he touched the tub with both hands. There was a flash of light, and then steam was rising gently from the water.

Mistress Shan started to disrobe, and Marcoh hastily shut his eyes. Mistress Shan chuckled when she saw.

“Young man, I am a hundred years old. You will by no means be the first man to see me naked, and you can hardly assist me if you keep your eyes closed. Now come on, I need your helping getting in.”

“Oh, oh, right,” Marcoh said. He reminded himself that he needed to see Mistress Shan as just another patient, not as a housemate he had dinner with every night. He opened her eyes and held her steady why she climbed in the tub. She’d left her cane against the wall of the bathroom. “Should I start with your hair?”

“Sure,” Mistress Shan said.

“Are you really a hundred years old?” Marcoh asked.

“Hmph!” Mistress Shan replied. “Don’t you know that it’s bad form to ask a lady her age?”

Marcoh used a bucket to wash her hair out and then rubbed the soap on a sponge. “I’m going to start with your back before doing your front, if that’s okay.”

“That works,” Mistress Shan said. As Marcoh was washing her left elbow, she spoke again. “Arieh said that Scar saved Winry Rockbell’s life. That true?”

“What?” Marcoh asked. The conversation topic had caught him off guard.

“You traveled with him, right? So, did he save Winry Rockbell?”

“Oh, um, yes,” Marcoh fumbled. As he continued to wash Mistress Shan, he related the story.

“So Arieh heard rightly then,” Mistress Shan said when he had concluded. “I wasn’t sure if I believed it.”

“Did you know the Rockbell parents?” Marcoh asked.

“Yes,” Mistress Shan said. “Arieh and I both did. We know also that Scar was the one who slew them.”

“He didn’t mean to,” Marcoh said softly. “He told me what happened, when he was interrogating me. If he’d been in his right mind, he never would have killed them.”

“Arieh forgives him,” Mistress Shan said. She bit her lip and hesitated before speaking. “If he saved their daughter, I’ll do my best to do so, as well. Ishvala knows we’re going to need to stick together.”

“Thank you,” Marcoh said. He helped her out of the bathtub, dried her off with a towel, and waited to see if she needed any assistance putting on her nightwear. (She didn’t.)

“Thank you for your assistance,” Mistress Shan said.

“You’re welcome,” Marcoh said. “Now, there’s just one more bit of alchemy I’d like to try.” Erasing his previous signals, he drew new ones. Mistress Shan watched curiously as he touched the circle once more. When the flash of light had died, there was a large chunk of ice sitting on an unspecified pile of dirt and grime.

“What’s that?” Mistress Shan asked.

“Scar’s idea,” Marcoh said. “The ice is pure hydrogen dioxide, ready to be reused. The rest is, well, everything in the tub that was not hydrogen dioxide. I’ll have to work on it some more, but this is a good start.” With a few more alchemic symbols, he returned the ice to liquid state and allowed the tub to drain.

\---

That night, Scar had been fast asleep on the couch when he was awoken by the sound of crying. He checked first that Arieh was okay. After he saw the teenager was still asleep on the loveseat, Scar realized that the crying was coming from the kitchen. Being careful not to bump into Burn’s cot, Scar shifted the blanket off of him and walked in there. He discovered that Marcoh was awake. It was he that had been crying.

“Scar,” Marcoh said quietly. “Did I wake you? I’m so sorry.”

Scar sat down beside Marcoh. “Burn does not like you,” Scar said, taking a guess at Marcoh’s distress.

Marcoh pulled his knees up to his chin. “I don’t deserve to have Burn like me.” He gulped air and then continued. “Arieh’s family was in the Amestrian military – his mother and father and older sister. Then Executive Order 3066 happened. Oh, Scar, Arieh’s family was among my victims. I orphaned him.” Scar nodded silently. He’d more or less known this. Burn had been good friends with Arieh’s older sister. That was why he had been the one to take Arieh in. Scar knew that they’d come to Kanda looking for safety and ultimately ended up in Xerxes with Mistress Shan. Beside Scar, Marcoh buried his face in his knees, so that Scar barely heard him say, “93,600,000 cens a year.”

“What?”

“That’s how much I was paid for being a State Alchemist and being part of Project Crystal. That’s what the lives of Arieh’s family were worth to me.” The money was gone now. Marcoh had used much of what he’d been able to take to support himself after running, and he’d recovered – and then spent – the last of it when traveling with Scar before the Promised Day.

“That is why you weep?”

Marcoh shook his head. He finally looked up. “It’s happening again,” he said. “Things were supposed to be getting better. Things were supposed to be right now. You and Burn and Mistress Shan and Arieh and all the rest were supposed to have happy lives. You deserve better than…than…_this_.” The sweep of Marcoh’s hand encompassed the breadth of the tiny apartment.

“We will manage,” Scar said.

Marcoh wiped his tears away with his arm. “I know. You’re the most amazing person I know. And I guess I should stop waking people up with my pity-party so I can get some sleep and be fresh to work on water purification system tomorrow, shouldn’t I?”

“You should,” Scar said, clapping him on the shoulder. “There is much good that Ishvala can use you for.”

“Thank you,” Marcoh said with a small smile. “You really are amazing. I’m so happy for you – for your upcoming nuptials. You’re going to make Strongine Armstrong a happy woman.”

Scar pulled a face. “Only if I can manage the seating assignments for the reception!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard Everhart is another technically canon character, although I provided him with his last name, and his role in the manga was small. While the real villain of this fan fic is the lingering effects of genocide, I liked the idea of having an antagonist who'd been on Team Good Guy during the events of the Promised Day. Everhart was one of the soldiers in Charlie's little band who came to Mustang's aid. 
> 
> The Big Booty Alchemist, for his part, was a rejected character concept mentioned in the manga extras.


	5. Chapter 5

Scar finished the seating arrangements for the wedding reception before having to start all over again when the Cholmondeleys (Cholmondeleies? Cholmondelepodes?) wrote saying that they would not be able to attend. Strongine was distraught.

“Rachel Cholmondeley has been my best friend since we were little girls!” she sobbed. “How can she not come to my wedding?”

“Is her family bigoted and small-minded?” Scar asked.

“Well, yes,” Strongine admitted. “But I’m her friend!”

In the end, a number of Strongine’s friends wrote back that they would not be able to attend the wedding. Her family (with the exception of her not-invited-brother) all said they would be able to make it, which was good, as her sister Amue was set to be her maid of honor, and her other sisters were to be her bridesmaids.

As for Scar, May wrote back that she’d love to be in the wedding and also that she hadn’t heard of jewel alchemy before. To round out his wedding party, Scar asked Burn to be his groomsman and for Miles to be in his best man.

“It would be my honor,” Miles said, after Scar had asked him.

“Thank you,” Scar said. Then he didn’t leave but didn’t say anything more. After enough time had passed for it to be awkward, Miles spoke up.

“Was there something more?”

“May I know your name?” Scar asked. “Your given name, I mean. It has been two years now, and I’ve only heard you called ‘Miles’.”

“Oh boy,” Miles said.

“You do not have to disclose it if you do not wish,” Scar said. “Your name is a sacred gift from Ishvala.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Miles said. He took a deep breath. “It’s Miles.”

“I do not understand,” Scar said.

“When my mother was pregnant with me,” Miles said, “the apartment where she and my father lived caught fire. She was the only one home at the time. A traveling salesman was passing through, saw the smoke, heard her cries, and broke a window. He ran right in, picked her up, and brought her outside to safety. He sustained second degree burns, but he used his coat to protect my mom. She was so scared that she was going to lose the pregnancy – lose me – that she insisted that she and my father name me after the traveling salesman when I was born healthy. She’d gotten the salesman’s name, you see.”

Finally, Scar understood. “His name was Miles.”

“Yep,” Miles said. “It is for that reason that my full name is Miles Miles. Please don’t laugh.”

“I would not laugh,” Scar said.

“Speaking of names,” Miles said, “what’s yours going to be after the wedding?”

“Scar Cohen-Armstrong,” Scar said.

“Cohen?” Miles asked.

Scar nodded. “I threw away my name, but…” He paused, struggling to say what he needed to say. “Cohen is not my name. It is the name of my family. I have decided to hyphenate.”

“And you’re keeping Scar?” Miles asked curiously.

“I am,” Scar said. “It is not a name given to me by Ishvala, but it is the name that May knows me by and you know me by. I find I am rather fond of it.”

“How’s the seating chart going?”

“I am finished, provided no one else cancels,” Scar said.

“It’s a shame the Cholmondeley family won’t be coming,” Miles said. “I promised Burn I would talk to Basil Cholmondeley. I suppose I’ll just have to do it when I make my trip into Central after the wedding. I need to talk to Mustang anyway.”

“That is appreciated,” Scar said. “We had to borrow again for this month’s rent, as did many families.”

Miles nodded. “I understand. I just wish I knew what to do.”

Scar clasped his shoulder with a hand. “We will figure it out.”

\---

There then proved to be some difficulty with wedding attire.

“I’m not wearing a dress,” Olivier said over the phone to Strongine.

“But you’re my bridesmaid!” Strongine pleaded. “And it’s my wedding.”

“Miles isn’t going to be wearing a dress,” Olivier countered. “Neither are Scar’s groomsmen.”

“May is!” Strongine corrected.

“But the rest aren’t,” Olivier retorted. “That’s my final position. Unless everyone wears a dress, I’m not wearing a dress.”

Strongine brought the case to Scar. “And Olive said that unless Miles and Burn wear dresses, she won’t wear a dress. I want everyone to wear beautiful purple dresses for my wedding!” she said, sobbing in to his big, strong arms.

“I understand,” Scar said. “I will speak to Burn and Miles.”

And he did.

\---

“You said Major General Armstrong requested it?” Miles asked.

“Yes,” Scar said.

\---

“Do you think I’d look good in purple?” Burn asked Scar.

“Yes,” Scar said.

\---

“I’m going to kill you,” Major General Armstrong said when Scar called her up to inform her that Burn and Miles had both been fitted for purple dresses.

“Get fitted for your dress first,” Scar said.

\---

Strongine was delighted. Her father was confused. The wedding was a smashing success. The marriage contract was signed and witnessed, and everyone had far too much to drink at the reception. Then, after everything had wound down and everyone had sobered up, Scar took Strongine to her new home.

“This building is yours?” Strongine asked when she saw it.

“The building?” Scar asked. “Yes, I built it.”

“Scar built most of the buildings here,” Marcoh said. “We’ve just got the one apartment, though.”

Burn fished out his key and opened up the door.

“Welcome to your new home,” Mistress Shan said. “The master bedroom is all ready for you.”

Scar, Strongine, and the rest followed in. Strongine looked around at everyone and then an awkward silence followed. It was clear that she was confused by something or wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“What is it, my wife?” Scar asked.

Strongine looked embarrassed. “Well, it’s our wedding night, and I knew Scar and I wouldn’t be living alone, but, well, where is everyone else’s rooms?”

“Oh dear,” said Marcoh.

Burn started to roll his eyes but stopped himself. “The apartment only has one bedroom.”

“But…but…where does everyone sleep?” Strongine asked, distraught.

“Mistress Shan has the couch now. Arieh sleeps on the loveseat. Burn has a cot he unfolds at night, and Marcoh has a mat in the kitchen. But we have the master bedroom all to ourselves.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

“Oh, um, yes,” Strongine said, following her husband into the master bedroom. They sat down next to each other on the bed.

“Are you nervous?” Scar asked.

“A little,” Strongine answered, eyeing the walls dubiously. They didn’t appear to be as thick as the ones at the Armstrong Mansion. She bit her lip. “It’s not my first time, though.”

“Hm?”

“When I was eighteen, I gave the one of the gardeners my favorite pair of earrings to, well, you know,” Strongine said. She looked down. “You probably think terribly of me.”

Scar shook his head. “Ishvala does not intentionally lay traps in our path, but nor does he fault us for struggling to find the way. You have erred far less than I.”

“Is this your first time?” Strongine asked.

Scar shook his head again. “No. But it is my first time with a woman.”

“What?”

“I was married previously,” Scar said. “His name was Yehonatan. Or Jonathan in Amestrian.”

“How were you married to a man?” Strongine asked.

“Ishval had declared itself free from Amestris at the time,” Scar explained. “Ishvala allows more than Amestrian law does.”

“What happened?” Strongine asked.

“He died,” Scar said. “He was a warrior, like me.”

“I’m sorry,” Strongine said.

“It was a long time ago,” Scar said. “He is with Ishvala now.”

There was a moment of pause before Strongine spoke. “So you like both men and women?”

“Yes,” Scar said.

“Do you prefer one over the other?” Strongine asked. “Er, um, I know that some people are like that, even if they like both.”

Scar shook his head. “There are people I am attracted to. Sometimes they are men. Sometimes they are women. It varies.”

“Tell me a man you find attractive,” Strongine said.

“Major Miles,” Scar answered promptly. “He has beautiful eyes, and I like his sideburns.”

Strongine cocked her head to the side. “Why did you not marry him then?”

Scar shook his head. “Miles does very important work, and Amestrian law forbids relations between two men.” He saw the expression on Strongine’s face. “There is no need for jealousy. When I was married to Yehonatan, I had eyes only for Yehonatan. Now that I am married to you, I will have eyes only for you.”

Strongine smiled. “I imagine we should take off our clothes now.”

“That makes things easier, yes,” Scar agreed.

Outside of the master bedroom, Mistress Shan, Burn, Marcoh, and Arieh sat in the living room in an awkward silence. Mistress Shan had had no lovers since moving into the apartment, and it was becoming obvious just now how not thick the walls really were. The apartment had been designed for a single individual or a childless couple. The walls between the rooms were thinner than the walls between the adjoining apartments. Thus, it wasn’t that they were trying to listen; it was that they couldn’t help but hear.

“Design flaw,” Mistress Shan muttered. “Oh well, I suppose if they break the bed, he can use that alchemy of his to repair it.”

“I could do something,” Marcoh said, “but I’d have to take the raw materials from somewhere.”

“If you thicken the wall, you decrease our living space,” Burn said, “and it’s cramped enough in here as it is.”

“Uncle, this is how babies are made, aren’t they?” Arieh asked.

“It is indeed,” Burn said. “When a man and a woman are married, Ishvala blesses the man with a big strong tree. He puts his seed inside the woman, and if Ishvala wills it, a baby is made.”

“But first he has to get her all wet, right?” Arieh asked, causing Marcoh to make a choking sound and Mistress Shan looked shocked. Arieh continued. “Like growing date trees on a farm. You have to water the crops.” Arieh frowned. “But I didn’t see Scar bring any water in with him.”

“A woman makes her own water,” Burn hastily clarified.

“Are you going to explain everything to him?” Mistress Shan asked.

“He’ll be a man before long,” Burn said defensively. “He needs to know these things.”

“Why don’t you and I take a walk?” Marcoh suggested to Mistress Shan.

Behind them, they heard Strongine scream, “Yes! Yes! Praise Ishvala! Yes!”

“Oh, look, he’s made a convert of her,” Mistress Shan remarked as she and Marcoh left the apartment.

\---

Strongine’s family (except Amue) returned home, as did May and the other wedding guests. Three days after that, the circus tried to leave town. The tent was taken down, the raised benches were disassembled, and the cannon was packed safely inside the trailer that was pulled behind the clown car. The whole ensemble was loaded up into horse drawn carts and taken to the train station.

Yoki looked around curiously at how many soldiers were at the train station. They seemed to be everywhere. He wondered if they were expecting a shipment or if there’d been a batch of new arrivals. Nevertheless, he sidled up to the ticket booth.

“I need tickets for the entirety of the circus,” Yoki said, handing over a small notebook that detailed everything and everyone they would be transporting.

“I need your letters of transit, too,” the man running the ticket booth said. “New thing, I’m afraid.”

“Letters of transit?” Yoki asked, befuddled. “We’re just going to Resembool.”

“And for that you need letters of transit,” the ticket booth operator said.

Yoki spoke slowly and clearly in hopes that that would straighten out the situation. “We’re looking to travel from Ishval, which is in Amestris, to Resembool, which is in Amestris.”

“No can do,” said the ticket booth operator. “All travel to and from Ishval requires authorized letters of transit. If you don’t like it, take it up with Grumman in Central.”

“But we don’t have letters of transit!” Yoki protested.

“Then I guess you’re staying in Ishval,” the ticket booth operator said flatly.


	6. Chapter 6

Yoki decided that the first thing he had to do was inform Darius and Heinkel what had happened. A couple of years prior, Scar and Yoki had wrangled up a horse and covered cart for their travels. They had abandoned it when it ceased being useful to them, turning the pony loose on a nearby farm, but after the Day of Reckoning, Yoki had retrieved both and dedicated them to the cause of the circus. Darius and Heinkel typically traveled in the back.

Scrambling up into the driver’s seat, Yoki pulled back the curtain and stuck his head into the back. There, he found Heinkel astride Darius, pushing Darius’ shirt up. Darius had his arms wrapped around Heinkel’s waist. Yoki’s face fell.

“You two do realize that we would be boarding a train shortly if we had letters of transit?”

“We were just going to-” Darius began.

“I don’t need to know!” Yoki interrupted.

Heinkel frowned. “What’s this about letters of transit and not boarding a train shortly?”

“We’re stuck in Ishval,” Yoki said and explained the situation.

“Go see Major Miles,” Darius said. “Heinkel and I will handle things here.”

Yoki nodded and left the cart. Taking a donkey from the entourage, he headed to the military base. There, he tied up the donkey at the stable, made sure she had food and water, and then started asking around until he found Major Miles. He was with another soldier, who was mostly bald and had a wide mouth.

“Why is the border shut down, sir?” Yoki asked when he reached them.

“What?” Miles asked.

“They said we need letters of transit,” Yoki said.

“Didn’t you know about this, _sir_?” the bald man asked, the picture of childish innocence. The way he said “sir” made Yoki’s ears prick up. He knew respectful insolence when he heard it.

“You knew about this, Everhart?” Miles asked.

The bald man – Everhart – nodded. “Of course. Orders just came down from the Flame Alchemist. I’m really sorry, sir, I assumed that you’d been informed. After all, you’re in charge here.”

Miles side-eyed him and then turned back to Yoki. “Okay, I’ll get you the letters of transit drawn up-”

“You can’t, sir,” Everhart said.

“Excuse me?”

“Only officers ranked Lieutenant Colonel or above can provide letters of transit,” Everhart explained “helpfully”. “The Flame Alchemist was really clear on that.”

“There aren’t any officers in Ishval ranked that high,” Major Miles said. “Okay, change of plans. Yoki, I want you to deliver a message to Scar. I’m going to Central.”

“You can’t-” Everhart began, but Miles ignored him. He gave Yoki the message.

Yoki took his donkey and rode to find Scar. Near the center of the town – a short walk down the river from the market - was the Holy Temple, so Yoki rode there first. Scar wasn’t at the Temple, but he was nearby, in the park. As the park lay on the banks of the Old River, it was rife with greenery and flowers. There were benches and picnic tables, making for a picturesque sight.

Scar was not alone. With him were his master (now the Supreme Cleric), Strongine, Amue, Mistress Shan, and Arieh. They were sitting on the grass, and Scar was standing before them, like a teacher at the head of his class. Scar was holding up his right hand.

“This hand destroys.”

He held up his left hand.

“This hand creates.”

He nodded at the assemblage, as if that explained everything.

“It might help if I had the arm tattoos first,” Mistress Shan said. “I’m an active learner.”

“Very well,” Scar said. “What is it, Yoki?”

“Border’s been shut down,” Yoki explained after he had demounted. “The circus can’t leave town since we don’t have any letters of transit. Major Miles told me to tell you that he’s handling it.”

“I see,” Scar said. “We should go see Marcoh then.”

“I’m going to get back to Darius and Heinkel,” Yoki said. “The circus is going to need to prepare for an extended stay here until the Major Miles sorts things out.” He bowed to Strongine with a flourish, causing her to giggle. “Fair well, my good lady. Do alchemy proud.”

Yoki remounted and rode off. Scar led the rest over the bridge to the other side of the Old River, which was where the Free Clinic was located.

“Oh my,” Strongine said when they arrived. “Is that you?”

Scar groaned. The Free Clinic was one of the oldest areas in rebuilt Ishval. It had been constructed by Marcoh in the early days when Scar was still recovering and most everyone believed that he had died in the fighting. It was for this reason that there was a slightly larger than life size status of Scar on a pedestal outside of the Free Clinic. It depicted him smiling beatifically at all who passed, and the base read:

THE TRUE HERO OF ISHVAL

HE WATCHES OVER US FROM AFAR

Scar had wanted it taken down after he’d informed everyone that he was not, in fact, dead, but his master had insisted it be left up, as its construction had been a community decision.

“Yes, it’s me,” Scar said glumly to his wife. Leaving his disciples outside, he sighed and went into the clinic.

Inside he found a line of children leading up to Marcoh. Dror waved at him. “Hello, Mr. Scar. We’re getting our fascinations!”

“Vaccinations,” Ilan corrected him.

Scar nodded in response. Medical treatment in Exile had been spotty to non-existent, which meant that Ishval’s future had no protection against smallpox or pertussis. Scar was pleased to see that the vaccinations had finally arrived. It was a battle for the Free Clinic to get anything.

“All done,” Marcoh was saying to Elior when Scar reached him. Marcoh saw Scar. “Is everything all right?” He addressed Dror. “I’ll be with you in just a minute, young sir.” 

Scar shook his head. “Borders been shut down. I’m training alchemists. I want you to tattoo them like you tattooed me.”

“How many are we talking?” Marcoh asked.

“Five to start,” Scar said.

Another one of the doctors – Dr. Hila Abrams – broke in. “I can cover you tomorrow if you want to do them then.”

“Tomorrow is your off day,” Marcoh protested. “You need to not burn yourself out.”

“This is important,” Dr. Abrams insisted. “Working one off day won’t kill me.”

“This is hardly the only time,” Marcoh muttered.

“You’re one to talk,” Dr. Abrams muttered back. She smiled at Scar. “You can count on us.”

“Thank you,” Scar said. He headed back outside, explained the plan to his students, and then led them back across the river. “Until then, let us discuss the molecular structure of diamonds.”

\---

Before leaving Ishval Command, Miles forged letters of transit with Major General Armstrong’s name on them.

“How’d you get letters of transit from the Northern Wall of Briggs?” asked the ticket booth operator.

“None of your business,” Miles said, “but feel free to call her up and waste her time if you’d like.”

“Fine, whatever,” the ticket booth operator said and handed over the tickets.

The train took Miles to Resembool, where he transferred to the northern line. He’d be going to Central before long, but first he needed to go to Briggs. He needed advice. He called ahead at the Resembool train station. In North City, he rented a car and took it up to the fort.

Soldiers saluted Miles when he entered. A wave of nostalgia and sadness hit him. Fort Briggs had been home for a long time, but now all it did was remind him of Buccaneer. The fort was too quiet without the other man’s presence. Miles and Major General Armstrong met in her office. He explained the situation in Ishval to her.

“This has never happened to you?” Major General Armstrong asked.

Miles shook his head. “Before I transferred to Briggs, I got plenty of shit for my looks, but it was never this bad.”

“Of course, you were only a First Lieutenant then,” Major General Armstrong said. It had taken Miles years to get that promotion, far longer than it would have if he’d been of Amestrian heritage only. His transfer to Briggs had come with the promotion to Captain. Later, he’d been promoted to Major. He hadn’t been promoted since his transfer to Ishval, despite the increased responsibilities.

“What would you do in my situation?”

“Kill the insubordinate fool,” Major General Armstrong said immediately. “You weren’t at Briggs when I first assumed command here, but more than a few officers and enlisted men declared that they’d rather die than serve under a woman. So they did.”

“Then the Flame Alchemist retaliates, murdering every last member of the Ishvalan race,” Miles countered. Most soldiers – most people – were too afraid to talk to Major General Armstrong like that, but she valued him for his different point of view.

Major General Armstrong nodded. Miles sighed.

“They’re weak,” he said finally. “Most of the Ishvalans that knew how to fight are dead. Many of the survivors aren’t even fit to fight.” With Brigg’s emphasis on Survival of the Fittest, he hated to admit that, but it was true.

“Major, why does Briggs need to be strong?” Major General Armstrong asked.

“Because the people of Amestris are weak,” Miles answered promptly. “If we do not protect them from Drachman aggression, they would be unable to protect themselves.”

“So it is with Ishval,” Major General Armstrong said. “They just need those who will protect them.” She tapped her fingers on her desk. “I’m going to arrange for Murray, Karley, a few others to be transferred to Ishval. If there are any Ishvalans able to fight, Murray can teach them. Karley will allow you to reach me outside of official channels.”

“Thank you, sir,” Miles said. “Now, I should be off.”

“Where are you going now?” Major General Armstrong asked.

“Central,” Miles said. “I need to speak with the head of the snake.”

\---

Miles did not talk to Grumman right away. First he spoke with Basil Cholmondeley AKA The Big Booty Alchemist. He had looked up where Cholmondeley’s research lab was and waited until he saw Cholmondeley leave for the day. As Cholmondeley began walking home, Miles strolled up beside him and matched his speed.

“Good evening, sir,” Miles said.

“What? An Ishvalan?” Cholmondeley yelped, startled. Then he started yelling, “Help! Help! Authorities! I’m under attack!”

Miles almost tripped over his own feet. Thankfully, Cholmondeley had stopped walking, so Miles was able to stop as well. It took a moment for Miles to order the immediate thoughts in his head in order of importance.

“First of all,” he began, “you’re not under attack. Second of all, I’m the authorities. My name is Major Miles. Third of all, aren’t you a State Alchemist?”

“Oh. Hello. Yes, but I really prefer research to the unpleasantness of combat, you must understand,” Cholmondeley said, and Miles was relieved to see that he’d stopped yelling. “You must excuse me,” Cholmondeley continued, “I’ve been a bit on edge. I own a farm in Ishval, and my employees are the most brutish lot. They attacked my manager recently, set fire to the house, and even killed a soldier!” Cholmondeley’s eyes were wide with fear. Miles resisted the urge to facepalm.

“No they didn’t,” Miles said. “None of that happened. Your workers just wanted to be paid more. They’re half starving as it is.”

Cholmondeley waved his hand dismissively. “Workers, I’ve found, are the biggest bunch of complainers. If they’d just budget their money more efficiently, I’m confident their wages would be more than adequate.” He sniffed. “I think I’ve been more than generous, really. Now, Major Miles, I really must be going.”

As he strode off, Miles reflected on a word in Old Amestrian. The word was “Backpfeifengesicht”. It meant “A Face In Need of Punching.”

With Cholmondeley gone, Miles got dinner and headed over to the Armstrong Mansion for the night. He’d deal with Mustang and then Grumman in the morning.

He arranged to meet with Mustang first. Afterward, he reflected that he shouldn’t have bothered. The conversation went thusly:

“Morning, Brigadier General.”

“Morning, Major.”

“Why is there a blockade around Ishval again?”

“I’m sorry, Major, but it’s necessary until the separatist extremist faction can be dealt with.”

“What separatist extremist faction?”

“Then one Scar is leading. They caused quite an uproar on the Cholmondeley farm the other day.”

“The Chool-mohn-deli farm?”

“Correct.”

“Chool- Oh! It’s pronounced Chum-lee, sir.”

“Really? _How_?”

“Beats me, sir.”

“I was never that posh. Anyway, I’m trusting you to keep things under control, Major.”

“They’re not out of hand, sir, except that one of your soldiers fired on unarmed laborers.”

“Scar is never unarmed, Major. I’ve been willing to turn a blind eye until now, but you can’t just let him do whatever he wants just because he’s Ishvalan.”

“Have a nice day, sir.”

Suffice to say, Miles was not in a terribly good mood when he arrived for his meeting with Führer President Grumman. Second Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina – the president’s aide – led him to Grumman’s office. They entered to find Grumman sitting in a large tub that was distinctly out of place. Brass pipes were connected to it from odd angles, and there was steam rising from the surface. Also in the tub were two young women. Miles could not see anyone from the waist down, but from the waist up, all three were nude.

“He gets worse every day,” Miles heard Catalina muttered under her breath. Miles tried to focus on a spot on the wall over the heads of Grumman and the two women.

“Morning to you, Miles!” Grumman said cheerfully.

“Uh, er, good morning, Your Excellency,” Miles said.

“Care to join me?”

“What?”

“There’s plenty of room,” Grumman said. “You can sit next to Veronica.” He pointed to the woman on his left.

“Stacey,” the woman said.

“What?” Grumman asked hazily.

“My name is Stacey,” said Stacey. She gave a tittering laugh that didn’t hide the annoyance on her face.

Grumman glanced at the woman on his right. “Are you Veronica?”

“Lilian,” the woman on his right said.

“Whatever,” Grumman said. “Come on in! You can have either one. Or I could have Madam Christmas send up another girl. I don’t know if she has any Ishvalan ones, but I can check.”

“Uh, no thank you, sir,” Miles said.

“Oh, don’t be a spoil sport,” Grumman said. “Rebecca can join us, too. She can sit on my lap. Or yours, if you’d like it.”

Miles shot Catalina an apologetic look. She addressed Grumman directly. “I’m the same age as your granddaughter,” she reminded him. “And those girls are younger.”

Grumman frowned. “You’re the spoil sport,” he grumbled. “Oh, well, you’re dismissed.”

Miles coughed. “The reason I’m here-”

“Do you want a tub like this in Ishval?” Grumman interrupted.

“No, thank you,” Miles said.

“It’s just, I heard there was some trouble out there.”

“Not really, sir.”

“You’ve got it under control?”

“Yes, sir,” Miles said, “however-”

“You should be rewarded for good behavior,” Grumman said. “You haven’t been promoted in a bit. You should have a promotion. Something that comes with a palace. Keeping the region under control is hard work, no doubt.”

“I don’t want a palace,” Miles said.

“Oh, come on, everyone wants a palace.”

“I do not,” Miles said. “But this blockade-”

“Just until everything’s under control,” Grumman assured him with a dismissive wave of the hand. Miles finally accepted that the meeting wasn’t going to go anywhere.

“I should be going, sir,” Miles said. “I have my duties to return to.”

“You sure you don’t want a dip first?” Grumman asked. “The water’s perfect.”

“I am sure,” Miles said. With a final salute, he left. He encountered Catalina outside. “You have my sincerest apologies,” Miles said. “Grumman’s behavior is completely out of hand.”

“Thanks,” Catalina said. “Unfortunately, the bastard runs the country.” 

Miles bid her good day and headed for the train station. He spent the train ride home deep in thought. Cholmondeley might be a buffoon, but Mustang wasn’t. The Flame Alchemist had been giving him the brush off. And as for Grumman, Miles knew a bribe when he saw one. Something bad was building on the horizon, and it was Ishval that was going to suffer if he couldn’t stop it. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't expect the posting schedule to be interrupted by holiday festivities, but it's possible a chapter might go up on a Friday or a Sunday if plans change, as they are wont to do this time of the year.

After he arrived back in Ishval, Major Miles forged letters of transit for the circus so that they could travel to their next stop. Then he tracked down Scar as soon as he could. He found Scar with his master the Supreme Cleric and a small gaggle of acolytes in one of the backrooms of the Temple, making copies of the holy texts. Miles was familiar with this project. A good printing press could easily cost 100,000 cens, and one had not been included in the items provided for the rebuilding. When the rebuilding of Ishval had first began, only a few copies of the holy texts had survived. Thus, it was one of the duties of the priestly class to replicate these.

Miles found himself clenching his fists without intending to. The holy texts had not been the only literature that had existed in Ishval. There had been theses, scientific journals, cookbooks, romances, and every other genre under the sun. They’d burned along with everything else.

“Something is the matter,” Scar said, when he saw Miles.

“Yes,” Miles said.

The Supreme Cleric smiled at the acolytes. “Why don’t you all take a break? I believe that Scar and I need to have a talk with the Major.”

“Yes, master,” the acolytes said in unison before exiting.

“Have a seat,” said the Supreme Cleric. Miles did so and related what had occurred during his trip to Central.

“Bastards,” Scar spat when Miles had finished.

The Supreme Cleric frowned. “Major General Armstrong is suggesting we raise our own army. I do not like this plan.” He shook his head sadly. “Our population is too small, and we have too many that are injured.”

“Alchemy could even the odds,” Scar said.

“Alchemy?” Miles asked.

“Scar is teaching us to make gemstones,” the Supreme Cleric explained. He rolled up the sleeves of his robes, and Miles saw that he now had tattoos identical to Scar’s. “I received these this morning, although I’m afraid I haven’t done much yet.” He smiled. “Although I was thinking of using it to help with the replication of the holy texts.” He turned inquisitively toward Scar. “If I had enough ink and a blank book, I could do that, couldn’t I?”

“You could,” Scar said. “I will help you devise the equation.”

“But the dear major is surprised,” said the Supreme Cleric with another smile.

Miles looked embarrassed. “I know that Scar uses alchemy, but you’re the Supreme Cleric. I thought that was a taboo.”

“Do you know the story of Noa from our holy texts?” the Supreme Cleric asked.

“Something about a boat?” Miles answered.

“No,” the Supreme Cleric said gently.

“Was he an alchemist?”

“_She_ was not,” the Supreme Cleric explained. “She was the eldest of her father’s daughters. She had no brothers. This was a long time in the past, and at the time, the family name would have disappeared when her father died, for he had no sons to inherit.”

“Okay,” Miles said, who was not quite following. “So what happened?”

“She took Lord Ishvala to court.”

“I’m sorry, she did what?”

“She took Lord Ishvala to court,” the Supreme Cleric repeated. “She won. The law was changed. The family name did not die out.”

“How does one win a court case against a god?” Miles asked.

“She had a good lawyer,” Scar injected. “She represented herself.”

“So you’re saying that taboos can change?” Miles asked.

“Yes,” said the Supreme Cleric. “We do not change the laws lightly, but there are circumstances where they _must_ change.”

“I see.”

“That said, I still don’t like the prospect of fighting.”

“We may not have a choice,” Scar said.

“I know,” the Supreme Cleric said sadly.

Miles pursed his lips. “In any sense, we can’t go declaring independence yet,” he said. “If the new train lines to Xing were destroyed, we’d lose a major trading partner.”

“We can’t rely on Aerugo,” the Supreme Cleric said firmly. 

“I will write to May,” Scar said.

“Thank you,” Miles said. “We should prepare for the worst. Whatever Grumman and Mustang are planning, it isn’t good.”

\---

At the appointed time, Strongine arrived at the Free Clinic to get her tattoos. When she came in, she got the attention of one of the doctors working there. The doctor’s name tag said Dr. Abrams.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Strongine asked. “I’m looking for Dr. Marcoh.”

The woman looked Strongine up and down with an expression like curled cheese. The hair on the back of Strongine’s neck stood up. She was accustomed to being looked at with disgust or pity, although usually when people didn’t think she could see lest they offend her family, but this was something different.

“You’re Master Scar’s wife, aren’t you?” Dr. Abrams asked. “Your sister’s the one with the curly hair?”

“Yes,” Strongine said.

“Now, now, Doctor,” Marcoh said, coming into the room from the back, “Envy is an ugly, little green thing.”

“And you’d know,” Dr. Abrams remarked.

“Nasty piece of work, no doubt,” Marcoh agreed.

Strongine looked from Dr. Abrams to Marcoh and back to Dr. Abrams. “You’re jealous of me?”

Dr. Abrams threw up her arms. “Fine! Yes! I’m hardly the only one guilty in that regard!”

“Scar has many admires,” Marcoh informed Strongine in a stage whisper. Strongine was still staring at Dr. Abrams.

“I’ve never had anyone be jealous of me before. When it comes to matters of the heart, I mean.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Dr. Abrams said. She made a face. “Okay, that sounded way harsher out loud than it did in my head. I apologize.”

“Please, it’s not like I don’t know I’m not small and willowy,” Strongine said. “And it’s rare that I don’t have to duck when entering doors if I’m not at home.” She sighed. “I honestly thought I’d never marry, but Scar…” She let out a happy sigh this time, which conveyed what words could not.

Dr. Abrams smiled. “You don’t need to tell me that he’s amazing.” She held out a hand. “Friends?”

“Friends,” Strongine said, shaking it.

“Now,” Dr. Abrams said, “I should be getting back to work, and I believe that Dr. Marcoh needs to give you some tattoos.”

“This way,” Marcoh said and led Strongine to the room he’d set up in the back for that purpose.

\---

Scar helped Miles identify potential soldiers, and they gathered at the Temple. Miles and Murray, careful not to be followed, slipped in through the back. Introductions were made, and Murray began instructing the prospective troops on the basics of gun safety. When it was time to break for lunch, Scar invited Miles to join him.

Scar led Miles up to one of the upper rooms of the Temple, and they took their lunch together in a beautiful sunroom that looked out over the back of the Temple. They unpacked the lunches they’d brought and ate together.

“This room is beautiful,” Miles said.

“Thank you,” Scar said.

“Did you come up with the design yourself?”

Scar shook his head. “This Temple is a recreation of the one in Kanda that was destroyed in the Extermination Campaign.”

“You have an extraordinary memory,” Miles said.

This got one of Scar’s rare smiles. This one was small and secretive. “I had a clean it top to bottom as punishment when I was a child.”

“Hm?”

“I stole all of the Supreme Cleric’s undergarments and threw them on the roof.”

“WHAT?”

Scar nodded. “I was a very bad child.”

“No, seriously, I want to hear this one. Why’d you do it?”

“The Supreme Cleric had scolded me at the feast that followed one of the fasting days.”

“Why?”

“My brother and I were throwing dates at each other. But I was the only one who got caught.”

“Where did you get the dates?”

“We swiped them,” Scar said.

“Aren’t dates what you are supposed to eat when you break a fast?”

“Yes, but no one wanted to eat the dates after we’d thrown them all over the room.”

“I’d imagine not!” Miles said, wiping away a tear. “Oh, wow, you really were a bad child.”

“The worst,” Scar agreed. He looked happily around the room. “I was upset, at first, about my punishment. Then I got to this room. The view was different in Kanda but also very beautiful. When I was washing the windows, I was struck at how peaceful it all was. That was when I fell in love with the priesthood.”

\---

When the schools reopened, Mistress Shan could dedicate the day to her alchemy studies, while Arieh would learn alchemy from her in the evenings. At least, that was the plan. The evening of the day the schools officially opened, Arieh came home in a fury and also on the verge of tears.

“I’m never going to school again!” he shouted.

“You’re late,” Mistress Shan said. Burn, Marcoh, Scar, and Strongine were all already home. Mistress Shan was reading an alchemy text book that Strongine had bought for them. Marcoh had started dinner. Burn was putting in a shelf to hold the new alchemy text books. Scar and Strongine were looking over paperwork to see if they couldn’t get their own apartment, as Strongine’s dowry had arrived, and that had alleviated their financial concerns at Strongine’s insistence. (Scar had told Burn that his wages would still go toward paying for the first apartment if he and Strongine rented one of their own.)

“I had detention,” Arieh said. He assumed the air of quoting the school officials. “I’m a teenage delinquent.” His attempt at sarcasm was undermined by his voice cracking on the last word. “Why does it keep on doing that?” he wailed.

“It’ll settle down,” Burn assured him. “Just give it time.”

“What happened at school?” Scar asked.

“The teachers are all stupid!” Arieh shouted.

“Dear, you don’t need to shout,” Mistress Shan said. “We can all hear you quite well.”

“I hate everything!” Arieh screamed. Then he stormed off to his room, which was still just the loveseat in the living room. He threw himself on it belly first and buried his head under a pillow.

“I’ve got this,” Burn mouthed to the rest of the household. Going over to the living room, he sat down on the rug by the loveseat. “What happened, son?”

Arieh muttered something indistinct from under the pillow.

“What was that?” Burn asked. 

Arieh peaked his head out from under the pillow. “They said we were uncivilized savages before Amestris annexed us.”

“Who did?” Burn asked.

“My history teacher,” Arieh said.

It was Scar who spoke next. “The other priests and I will take over the education of the young. It should not take long to construct a new school.”

Marcoh stuck his head around the corner from the kitchen. “Let me know if you need help making the buildings.”

Strongine clenched her hands in her lap. “I’ll write to my sister and have him send over some books from the library.”

“I didn’t marry you for-“ Scar started to protest, but Strongine cut him off.

“I know you didn’t, my love, but let Olive fund the school, okay? For the children?”

Scar nodded in agreement. “You are right.”

“I can teach in addition to doing alchemy,” Mistress Shan said. “Or teach alchemy, for that matter.”

A little smile slowly crept across Arieh’s face. “Thanks, guys,” he said.

\---

The next day, after work, Burn did not head straight home. Instead, he tracked down Major Miles. He found Miles with Amue Armstrong. They were strolling hand in hand down the bank of the Old River.

“Major,” Burn said curtly by way of greeting.

“Good afternoon,” Miles replied.

“I need to talk to you,” Burn said.

“Can it wait for another time?” Miles asked. “I’m entertaining my lady.”

“Lovely though she be,” Burn began, which caused Amue to blush, “this concerns Ishval. We must declare our independence if we are to be free.”

“What? Right now?” Miles asked.

“Yes!” Burn said. “Immediately! You have dawdled too long. You fail to take the initiative.”

“I don’t make proclamations of sedition in the open air where any soldier might overhear me,” Miles said coolly.

“A soldier like you?” Burn spat.

“Then situation is under control,” Miles said. “Go home.”

“Fine!” Burn snapped. Turning on his heel, he left. Miles rubbed his temples. Progress was slow, but they couldn’t afford to be stupid. Murray had begun doing secret, middle of the night training exercises with some of the men and women who were willing and able to fight. Scar now taught one alchemy class on making jewelry and one on combat tactics. But they had to be discrete, damn it, which meant that only those directly involved knew anything. Burn – in Scar’s assessment – was a true son of Ishval. He was also a hot head who was already working himself to the bone to support his household, and he didn’t have the best depth perception. They would have to bring him – and everyone else – in on the plan eventually, but they had decided to wait until the time was right.

“Shall we retire to my hotel room?” Amue suggested.

“Let’s,” Miles said grinning.

When they arrived back, Amue lounged on the bed. She smiled coyly at Miles. “I know it’s not quite proper, since we are not married, but I wish to make love to you.”

“Anything for the jewel of my heart,” Miles said, with a sweeping bow.

“Why don’t you help me out of this dress?” Amue asked coyly.

“With pleasure,” Miles said, grinning. It was a very fine dress, so there were many clasps to unclasp and laces to unlaces, but when Amue finally sloughed it off, she was left reclining on the bed in only her undergarments. With her arms bare, the tattoos she now bore on each arm were fully visible. They were identical to Scar’s, but Miles found himself reflecting idly that there was a uniqueness to the scars that decorated Scar’s arms; they reflected the life he’d led, and it was a life that Miles’ admired.

Miles forced his gaze away from Amue’s arms. He did not know why he was thinking of Scar at a time like this. He should be thinking about Amue. He settled his focus on Amue’s bosom, which was rising and failing in anticipation. She was larger in the chest than her elder sister. Major General Armstrong would never tolerate anyone ogling her, of course, but Miles had occasionally gotten glimpses out of the corner of his eye while at Briggs.

“Is something wrong, Major?” Amue asked, after Miles shook his head, trying to get focused.

“A thousand apologies, my lady,” he said. “I think I am feeling under the weather. I should be going.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” Amue said.

Miles hastily left. Amue waited until he was gone to put her dress back on, and she waited until she was dressed to let the tears fall.

Amue’s tears had started to dry when there came a knock at the door. “Amue?” Strongine’s voice called. “Can I come in?”

Amue unlocked the door, and Strongine came in.

“Oh, Sissy, what’s wrong?” Strongine asked when she saw how splotchy Amue’s face was.

“Major Miles just… he…”

“What? Did he dump you?”

“No. I don’t think so. We were going to, well, you know, and then he ran off like he had a demon on his heels!”

“Oh, Sissy, I’m so sorry,” Strongine said.

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” Amue said. “What brings you over here?”

“This is probably a bad time,” Strongine muttered.

“Uh uh,” Amue said. “Out with it.”

“Okay,” Strongine said. “But I warned you.”

“Get to the point, Strongine.”

“Fine,” Strongine said. “I think I maybe might have missed my period.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Noa is based upon the story of the Daughters of Zelophehad from Numbers 27 in the Torah.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a PG-13 film, typically only one instance of the f-word is permitted. As this fan fiction is rated PG-13, there is only one f-bomb in the entire story, and it occurs in this chapter.

Scar had strong beliefs about what sort of husband he should be, so while it was not – as Mistress Shan was prone to muttering - “Every damned night. What, are they trying to repopulate Ishval on their own?”, he and Strongine made good use of their marriage bed. Two things came of this. The first was that after six days, Marcoh finally perfected earplugs for everyone. The second was that Strongine’s period went missing.

“Oh boy,” Amue said, when Strongine gave her the news. “Oh boy. Let’s sit down.” They both sat on the bed.

Strongine wrung her hands. “I’m probably just late.”

“How late?”

“Before the wedding late.”

“The wedding was two months ago!”

“I should see Dr. Abrams.”

“Yes, right now. Let’s go.”

The clinic was still open when Amue and Strongine arrived, and Dr. Abrams was still working. She looked up when they entered.

“Strongine? What’s wrong?” Dr. Abrams asked when she saw the expression on Strongine’s face.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Abrams said. “Step into my office.”

Once they were inside, Strongine explained the situation.

“So, um, I think I might maybe be pregnant,” Strongine said.

“Is your period usually regular?” Dr. Abrams asked.

“Sort of,” Strongine answered. “It doesn’t come perfectly every month, but I would think I would have gotten it by now. I’m sorry; I’ve never really tracked it before.”

“Armstrong women are like that,” Amue added. “I haven’t had mine in three months, and I’m definitely not pregnant.”

“But I’m married now,” Strongine said. “Besides, Amue’s has always been way more irregular than mine.”

“Well, if you’re looking to induce it, you’ll have to go to East City,” Dr. Abrams said.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m all out of dong quai,” Dr. Abrams explained, “and the Glory to the Sun Hospital over by the market is run by a bunch of High Letoists, so they won’t induce periods.”

“Oh, no,” Strongine said. “I was just hoping you could, you know, tell me if I’m pregnant or not.” Scar and Strongine hadn’t discussed the prospective of children, but Strongine had been raised that they were a given in marriage.

Dr. Abrams shook her head. “Not this early. In a couple of months, you’ll either have your period or you’ll have the quickening. Be warned, if you do have your period, it might be heavier than usual. Still, you should stop in every other week. Sooner, if there’s something happening that concerns you.”

“Is it okay if I don’t tell everyone yet, then?” Strongine asked. Inside her was not only possibly a growing baby but a whirlwind of feelings she didn’t even begin to know how to sort out.

“Of course,” Dr. Abrams said. “My sister just went through the same thing. Her baby only started kicking last week. Still, I’ll pray to Ishvala for the best.”

“What about you, Doctor?” Strongine asked. “Any plans for kids?”

Dr. Abrams face fell.

“Oh, sorry!” Strongine said. “I said the wrong thing, didn’t I?”

Dr. Abrams waved a hand. “You didn’t know.” She took a deep breath. “Back before Executive Order 3066, there was the Lunar Initiative.”

“The Lunar Initiative?”

“Sterilization program,” Dr. Abrams said. “Anyway, I’d been thinking about adopting, but now my sister and brother-in-law are going to need all the help they can get with the baby. It’s just the three of us left out of our families.”

“I’m sorry,” Strongine said.

“It’s not your fault,” Dr. Abrams said. She made a face, as an unpleasant thought crept across it. “Your brother is the Strongarm Alchemist, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Strongine said shortly.

“Consider having Major Miles assign you a protective detail, if it turns out that you are pregnant.”

“What? Why?”

“Your brother massacred a lot of Ishvalans,” Dr. Abrams said, “and now you’ve gone off and married one and possibly got another in your womb.”

“My brother wouldn’t hurt me,” Strongine said firmly. She looked down. “Family is the stupid reason he became a State Alchemist in the first place.” She made herself meet Dr. Abrams’ eye. “Daddy was ever so proud of him.” She sighed. “Besides, we haven’t spoken in ages. Olivier disowned him and had him banished from the family property.”

“If you’re sure,” Dr. Abrams said, doubt evident in her voice. “Now, you go home and get some dinner.”

“You know, if you are pregnant,” Amue remarked, “your little one would likely be the next head of the house.”

“Unless you and Miles,” Strongine started before remembering that Amue had had a bad date.

“Right,” said Amue neutrally.

“Your older sister has no plans for children?” Dr. Abrams asked. “I’m not trying to pry into her business or anything, I just remember Dr. Marcoh mentioning that she was the current head.”

“None,” confirmed Amue.

“Making babies would involve a man,” Strongine said knowingly.

“That’s not fair,” Amue said. “Men do catch Olive’s eye. Sometimes.”

“Once in a blue moon,” Strongine said, “If the stars are properly aligned. Anyway, we should be going. Thank you, Doctor.” She and Amue left the clinic and then parted ways. Strongine went home to the tiny apartment she shared with too many people, thinking that it could soon include another. Amue went back to her hotel room and began composing a letter to her mother and father, informing them that Strongine was probably pregnant but not to tell anyone yet.

\---

The next morning began an off work day for many. For Marcoh, that meant continuing work on the water purification system. Currently, water was pumped out of wells. The pumps were donkey powered. The donkeys were hooked up to harnesses and they walked in an endless circle, turning a giant gear. Handlers swapped out the donkeys periodically. The pumped water was taken to a high tower, where gravity could then take it to the various apartment complexes that Scar had built. The water was used and then flowed down various drains, where it was taken to a water treatment facility that purified it. From there, it was returned to the Old River.

Marcoh was standing in front of the donkey wheel, lost in thought, when Burn strolled up next to him. “Cens for your thoughts,” Burn said.

“What? Oh, good day, Burn,” Marcoh said. “Uh…I was thinking that if everyone learned alchemy, we could eliminate a great deal of inefficiency in the system. The infrastructure would have to be rebuilt from basically scratch, but that, too, could be achieved by alchemy. It’s all just a matter of movement, really. Take the water out of the ground, put it in the tower. Use the water. Separate the water from the non-water. We wouldn’t need pumps if we use alchemy to relocate the water from wells to the tower. The basis of alchemy is the reshuffling of atoms. With the big enough circle, getting the water into the tower would be no trouble at all.

“The purification step is a bit harder, but if we separate all water from non-water, we can send pure hydrogen dioxide down one path while everything else is left to go down the other path. Then we can shift the water back to the tower. Actually, now that I say it out loud, we wouldn’t have to pump water out of the ground very often, since it would be a near 100% efficient system.”

“Are you saying we should drink our own piss?” Burn asked.

“Of course not,” Marcoh said. “I’m saying that we should use alchemy to separate the water component of urine from the rest and drink that. The water, that is.”

“That sounds disgusting, if I’m going to be honest.”

“It would be purer than the water we are drinking now,” Marcoh countered.

“Yeah, whatever,” Burn said. “You showed the good Major what you’ve been doing?”

“Major Miles? Oh, no, not yet. It’s still in the planning stage.”

“Why not do that now?” Burn suggested. “If you’re going to be rerouting infrastructure, he’s going to need to know. Best to do that before you start drawing circles.”

“Good point,” Marcoh said. “Well, I must be off. Have a good day, Burn.”

“You too, Doctor,” Burn said. “You’re doing good work with this.”

“Thank you,” Marcoh said. He felt as though warmth was spreading through his entire body as he set off to find Major Miles, and there was a happy smile on his face.

He found Miles standing indecisively in front of the flower cart run by Batel Mittelman.

“You’ve got to pick something, dearie,” Batel said.

“Is there a bundle of flowers that will convey ‘I am really, really sorry.’?” Miles asked. “Should I buy out the whole cart?”

“Mustang did that once,” Batel said. “Best night of sales I’ve ever had.”

“Probably not a good idea, then,” Miles muttered.

“Chrysanthemums are good,” suggested Batel.

“The yellow ones are pretty,” Miles commented.

“Those mean sorrow in love,” Batel said. “Maybe some hyacinths?”

Miles eyed the yellow ones and then shifted his gaze to the purple ones. Purple was the opposite of yellow. He pointed. “Those?”

“Also sorrow,” Batel said.

“What do the yellow hyacinths symbolize then?” Miles asked.

“Jealousy,” Batel said. “What are you trying to convey, other than regret?”

“I don’t know,” Miles said. “That I love her? That I’d do anything for her?”

“How about white chrysanthemums then?” Batel suggested. “They symbolize loyal, devoted love.”

“Perfect,” Miles said. “Can you have a dozen of them delivered to the hotel room of Amue Armstrong? With this note attached, too?” He held out the handwritten note.

“Of course, Major,” Batel said. She took the note from Miles.

Marcoh waited until Miles had paid and then caught his attention. “I wanted to walk you through the idea I had for the water purification system Scar tasked me with.”

“Why don’t we grab Scar then?” Miles said.

“Of course,” Marcoh said. They headed off to find him.

After they left, Burn strolled up to Batel’s flower cart and bought a bouquet of yellow hyacinths. Humming, he headed to the hotel room of Amue Armstrong.

\---

Marcoh cheerfully gave Scar and Miles a tour of his vision for the city, and as they walked between points, Scar and Miles fell into conversation.

“Something on your mind, Miles?” Scar asked.

“How many times have you been in love?” Miles asked.

“Just once so far,” Scar answered.

“Your wife,” Miles said.

Scar shook his head. “No, not yet. I was married once before. He died during the Civil War. I loved him dearly.” Miles felt a brief moment of elation at the revelation that Scar had been with a man, which he promptly squashed. He was with Amue, and Scar was married. That Scar liked men was of no importance to him.

“You don’t love Mrs. Strongine…yet?” Miles asked, mentally getting himself back on track.

“We’ve known each other less than a season,” Scar pointed out. “Love will come in time.”

Miles nodded. “Maybe I just need to give my relationship with Miss Amue time. It’s just…it feels different than when I was with Captain Buccaneer.”

“He was the man who struck a blow to King Bradley before I faced him, right?”

“Yes,” Miles said with a sad smile. “He died a hero.”

“What made you love him?” Scar asked.

“I don’t know,” Miles said. “It was just easy. We had a lot in common – really, everyone at Briggs did. And Major General Armstrong was there.”

“There was something between you and the Northern Wall of Briggs?”

“What? No! Of course not! But she kept order. She took care of things – she took care of everything. What about you and your husband?”

“He was my best friend,” Scar said. “I could talk to him about anything. Like how I can talk to you.”

“Right, right, of course,” Miles said. “What about you, Doctor?”

“Always been married to my work,” Marcoh answered, “for better or worse.” He looked down. “Usually for worse.”

Scar clapped him on the shoulder. “Now it is for better. You mentioned something about obsoleting the donkey wheel. Is there a way we could have it functional as necessary?”

“Right,” Miles agreed. “We don’t want to cut off our options and put all our eggs in one basket of alchemy.”

“Speaking of alchemy,” Scar said, “the lessons for the future soldiers of Ishval has been going well.” The Ishvalans that Miles had recruited had been slipping off to the Temple during the day in small groups, where Scar had been discretely teaching them.

“Excellent,” Miles said.

“Are they ready for their tattoos yet?” Marcoh asked.

Scar shook his head. “It’s one thing for Arieh and Mistress Shan to have the tattoos, since Arieh’s too young to fight, and Mistress Shan is too old.” He frowned as he realized that Arieh was actually not that far off from fighting age, despite his words.

“But if we start giving people of fighting age alchemy tattoos, we risk our project being exposed too soon,” Miles said. “We’ll bide our time then.”

\---

A knock came on the door of Amue’s hotel room, but when she opened it she found not Major Miles or Strongine but Burn. He held out a bundle of flowers with a charming smile.

“Oh, Burn!” Amue said. “Are these for me?”

“They are, fair lady,” Burn said. He held out his arm. “Care to take a walk by the river with me?”

“I really…” Amue stopped, thought of the recent events that had transpired, and made up her mind. “You know what? Yeah. Let’s go.” She took Burn’s arm and allowed him to lead her along the river. It was truly beautiful there. If much of Ishval was desert, the area along the banks of the Old River was a winding oasis.

“You speak Ishvalan very well,” Burn remarked. “You and your sister both. You just got here, and you’re both better than Dr. Marcoh, who’s been trying to learn for two and a half years now.”

“Why, thank you,” Amue said. “Mrs. Mittelman taught all of us when we were children.”

“The flower-seller?” Burn asked, confused.

“Of course,” Amue said. “After all, she’s our great-aunt, sort of.”

“How does one become a sort of great-aunt?”

“It’s all very romantic,” Amue said. “Back when, Aldric Constant Armstrong fell in love with Sarah Mittelman. Now, Sarah Mittleman was an accomplished landscaper, but she was still, well, common, so Aldric’s parents forbid him to marry her.”

“Let me guess,” Burn said, “there was a secret tryst, and our esteemed flower-seller was the result?”

“Oh, no,” Amue said. “Aldric told his parents that if Sarah couldn’t be the lady of the Armstrong estate, then he would be the lord of her landscape. He renounced the Armstrong family name, married Sarah, and became Aldric Constant Mittleman.”

“What did the family do?”

“Well, naturally, Aldric’s parents spread rumors that he was deathly ill with consumption.”

“Naturally,” Burn commented with more than a little sarcasm.

“They weren’t very open minded! Anyway, after enough time had passed, they announced that he’d tragically passed and held a big funeral with an empty, closed casket. Aldric’s younger sister Brigitte Edwige Armstrong became head of the family. Brigitte was my grandmother. She passed away when we were younger.”

“Wouldn’t it have been even more romantic if Sarah could have been the lady of the Armstrong family?”

“Well, yes, but at least they got to be together. Besides, Brigitte and Aldric got on very well with each other, and Brigitte gifted him and Sarah with a very generous wedding gift.

“So that would make Batel Mittelman your…er…father’s cousin?”

“Yes, but we always just said great-aunt. It was easier. We saw Batel a lot growing up, and then when…um…”

“Hm?”

“When the Extermination Campaign was going on, Batel and her kids and grandkids stayed over at the Armstrong Estate. You know, until it was safe – well, maybe not _safe_, but I guess just safer for them to be out and about.”

“But isn’t your brother a State Alchemist?” Burn asked.

“Well, yes,” Amue said, “but this is _family_ we’re talking about. I know Alex did bad, I mean, very terrible things, but he’d never betray family.”

“And to Hell with all the rest?” Burn asked.

Amue bit her lip and nodded. “I know. I’ve thought about that a lot since I came here.” She rolled up her sleeves to show Burn her alchemic tattoos. “That’s why I got these.” She let her sleeves back down. However, they only walked a short distance further when Amue stopped sharply. “Oh, what’s all this?”

Burn smiled. “We’re here.”

On the bank of the Old River, secluded from view by a dense patch of trees and a strand of bushes, was a blanket weighed down with rocks. Next to it was a picnic basket. Next to that were two folded towels.

“What…what is this?” Amue asked.

“It’s a picnic,” Burn said. He sat down on the blanket and patted the spot beside him. “Care to join me?”

Amue could have said “No.” It would have been no difficulty at all for her to go back to the main road and walk back to her apartment.

She sat down next to Burn.

He opened the picnic basket. “Have you ever had candied cactus fruit?”

Amue shook her head.

Burn grinned mischievously. “Open wide.”

Amue felt her stomach flip flop. Burn’s grin was doing things to her that never happened when she was with Miles, and she liked it. She opened her mouth, and Burn popped the whole cactus fruit in. Amue chewed carefully, savoring the flavor. It wasn’t like anything she’d had before, and she’d thought that the Armstrong Mansion had had the absolute pinnacle of cuisine.

“That’s amazing,” Amue said, after she had finished.

“Would you like another?” Burn asked.

Amue opened her mouth without being bidden, and Burn fed another one to her. She felt the light touch of his fingers on her mouth. While she blissfully ate her second one, Burn took one for himself.

“What about krembo?” Burn asked.

“No,” Amue said. “And yes, please.”

Krembo was delightful but also messy. After Amue had eaten hers, Burn ran his finger around her mouth, wiping away the excess and then licking his finger clean.

“May I kiss you,” Burn asked.

“Yes,” Amue said breathlessly, and Burn did so.

“Must I restrain myself only to kissing?” Burn asked, longing in his voice.

“No,” Amue said.

“May I undo your dress?”

“Yes.”

“May I remove my own clothing?”

“Yes.”

Many yes’s from Amue followed, first spoken and then moaned. When she and Burn had finished with their love-making, they used the water from the Old River to wash themselves. After drying with the towels, they got dressed. Burn kissed her goodbye, and she returned to her hotel room in a daze.

There was a bouquet of flowers leaned against the door, and Amue was vaguely aware that she’d left the flowers from Burn on the picnic blanket. She examined the new bouquet. There was a note attached to it. It read:

My Dearest Amue,

A thousand apologies would be insufficient for the end of our date last night. My heart has been sick at the thought of your unhappiness. Please allow me to make it up to you by taking you out to dinner at The Dancing Crab tomorrow night.

Forever yours,

Miles

Amue lowered the note. She looked at the flowers she held and thought of the flowers she’d left behind.

“Oh, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes about this chapter:
> 
> 1\. Dong quai is an abortifacient, and "inducing a period" is an older euphemism for causing an abortion.  
2\. The quickening is the first time a pregnant person feels the fetus move. A huge number of pregnancies end in natural miscarriages early on (which is often perceived as a late, heavier-than-usual period) so the quickening is a big milestone in a pregnancy.  
3\. I establish later that this was not Amue's first time, but as she left her bouquet behind, I guess you could still say she's been...deflowered.


	9. Chapter 9

The day before Scar was set to start teaching at the just finished school, he ran into Miles on the banks of the Old River. They were both taking a walk and found their paths aligned.

“Good day, Miles,” Scar said.

“To you, as well,” Miles said. “Long time, no see.”

Scar nodded. “You should come to dinner some time. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”

Miles’ stomach did a flip-flop in response. He only nodded.

“How are things with you and Amue Armstrong?” Scar asked.

“Amue? Oh! Oh, they’re good,” Miles said. “I must have picked the right flowers. She let me take her out to dinner two nights after. She was really cheery and upbeat. She said she liked my sideburns.”

“You’re sideburns are very nice,” Scar said.

“We’ve been taking things slow,” Miles said with the sort of forced nonchalance that betrays itself as anything but.

“You are a good suitor,” Scar said, “who is well suited for her. I am happy that you are the one wooing my sister-in-law.”

“There’s nothing between me and the Major General!” Miles almost yelped before his face burned with embarrassment.

Scar looked at him curiously. “I would certainly hope not.”

“How are things with you and Strongine?” Miles asked swiftly.

“Things are well,” Scar said. “She is a fine wife, and I am happy to be married to her. I hope that we will be able to expand our family soon.”

“Well, best of luck there,” Miles said.

“You really must come over sometime,” Scar said. “I’d be honored to have you and your lady as our guests.”

“I’ll have to see when I have time,” Miles said. “On a different topic, what’s the latest on that purification system Marcoh’s been working on?”

“It is nearly complete,” Scar said. “He’s been working on it at night. Here, I’ll show you one piece of it.”

Scar led Miles a short distance to one of the wells. It consisted just of a pipe sticking out of the ground that tapped into an underground vein of the Old River. The pipe led to the nearest water tower. The pump was not visible from the where Scar and Miles were standing. In the distance, the donkeys were hard at work providing power for the unseen pump. Miles could see that a flat stone lay at the base of the pipe. On the stone was carved an alchemy circle whose function he didn’t recognize. Then his eyes caught the writing on the stone around the circle. Carved in Ishvalan, it was a set of clear, concise instructions on how to activate the circle.

Miles’ lips moved as he slowly read the engraving. “This circle moves 100 gallons of water from the vein to the water tower.”

Scar smiled. “Anyone can activate it.” He gestured to the pump that was not visible. “The pump, which is the property of Sinclair Kimblee, is obsolete.”

“He still owns the water in the vein and the tower, doesn’t he?” Miles asked.

“And the pipes that I built, that carry the water to the homes that I constructed,” Scar agreed. “But he does not own the water in the tower that we’ve already paid for. That, at least, Amestrian law recognizes as ours.”

Realization dawned on Miles. “But you pay by pump use,” he said.

“And soon we will not be using the pumps.”

\---

Before Strongine moved in, the chore of cleaning the bathroom had been rotated on a weekly basis. When Scar married Strongine, it became Strongine’s chore, to the relief of everyone except Strongine. It had been a rough adjustment. Olivier had warned Strongine that she would have chores ahead of her in the future, and Strongine knew that Olivier had scrubbed latrines as part of military life, but actually cleaning was still a shock. As a single woman, Strongine had never done housework in her life. The Armstrong family had servants for that sort of thing.

Strongine had been tempted to hire a housekeeper for her new home once her dowdy arrived. Scar had shown no interest in her dowdy. The one time she’d broached the subject, he’d reminded her that he hadn’t married her for her money. So Strongine had used a pittance of it to cover the lacking expenses and saved the rest.

She’d held off on hiring a housekeeper out of pride. Mistress Shan and Arieh tackled the laundry. Burn did the shopping, Marcoh cooked, and Scar did the dishes. They took turns sweeping and doing anything else needed to keep the apartment in order. Strongine swore that if they could manage their chores, then so could she.

Now, however, she had a better idea than a housekeeper. She approached the bathroom now not with her usual arsenal of rags, lemon-based cleaner, and water, but with an understanding of what dirt and filth was. Her short hair was tied back, and she rolled up her sleeps, exposing the alchemic tattoos on each arm.

She started with the counter. Placing both hands on it, there was a cackle of light as she transmuted all dirt and mold on it, deconstructing it and then reconstructing it in the waste bin. From the tub she removed all soap stains, and she stripped the toilet bowl of any residual fecal matter and urine.

When she was done, she examined her work. There were still unidentifiable stains here and there. She could only transmute that which she understood, so she collected her mundane cleaning supplies and hit the rest. It took considerably less time, and the bathroom positive gleamed.

Satisfied with her work, she headed out for the day. She and Scar had decided to rent the adjoining apartment, and she had promised Scar she’d get that taken care of. Anthony Comanche – who owned the apartment complex that Scar had built – had never, as far as Strongine knew, been to Ishval. His business there was handled by a building manager, whose office was just off of the central square where the market was.

When she arrived, Strongine knocked on the door and was bidden to enter. “Good day,” she said to the building manager. “I’d like to rent an apartment.” She started to give the address, but the building manager held up a hand to stop her.

“You’re an Armstrong, aren’t you?” the building manager asked. “You look like an Armstrong.”

“Yes,” Strongine said. “I am Strongine Armstrong.”

“Your money’s no good here,” the building manager said.

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t rent to you.” The building manager shrugged. “Mr. Comanche’s orders. I don’t have any say in it.”

“Why can’t you rent to me?” Strongine asked.

The building manager shrugged again. “I don’t get paid to ask questions.”

Turning on her heel, Strongine left in a huff. She went home and tried to study her alchemy textbooks, but she found it difficult to concentrate. She wished she could blow off steam while she studied, but nobody was home. As the new school Scar had built had just opened that morning, Scar and Mistress Shan were off teaching, and Arieh was attending.

\---

Scar taught the age group that included Elior, Ilan, and Dror. It wasn’t a large class. Rebuilt Ishval still consisted of but a single city. The age group he taught was for children who’d been babies at the time of the Extermination Campaign. Amestris had a high infant mortality rate at the best of times. Very few of the very young had made it to safety. The age groups that followed – the children born in Exile – were scarcely larger. The slums did not make a safe environment for children.

“You’re scowling, Mr. Scar,” a voice in the class piqued up, and Scar broke out of reverie to see that it was Ilan.

“I am angry at injustice,” Scar explained.

“I am angry at this word problem,” Elior whined. “Do I have to do it, Mr. Scar?”

“Yes,” Scar said. “You are here to learn. Still, we will do it together. Dror, could you read the word problem out loud?”

“You have 10 mol molecules of ma'an. If you deconstruct it with alchemy, what is the mass of oxygen and hydrogen that you have? The atomic mass of oxygen is 15.999 u, and the atomic mass of hydrogen is 1.00784 u.”

“What does ma’an mean?” one of the students asked.

“Ma’an is the Ishvalan word for ‘water’,” Scar explained patiently. During Exile, many had been afraid to speak their mother tongue, and some of the children did not know the language of their ancestors. Scar was attempting to correct this. The class was being conducted in Amestrian, but he was adding in Ishvalan vocabulary everywhere he could.

“Moles aren’t made of water,” Elior argued.

“It’s Mol, not moles,” Ilan corrected his brother smartly before adding. “Mukh maa fī. Mol’s a language. Mr. Scar, I don’t speak Mol.” 

“Remember Mr. Mol who Dad used to buy bread from?” Dror asked. “He was such a jerk! Dad said that he overcharged us.”

Another student – Aliza Mittelman – stuck up her hand. “What’s an atomic?”

Scar took control of the situation. “Ilan, don’t say that to your brother. He has too got brains.”

Another little girl – Devora Heyman – raised her hand. Unlike the others, she actually waited for Scar to call on her before speaking. “What does Muk Mafi mean?”

“Mukh maa fī,” Scar corrected. “It means ‘There is no brain.’ Now, who would like to come up to the chalk board and diagram the sentence?”

Not waiting for Scar to pick her, Aliza rushed up to the board and began writing the sentence out. Even if Scar didn’t want his students saying that to each other, the individual words themselves would help expand their vocabulary.

After Aliza was finished, Scar said, “Correct. Now, there was contention about the makeup of moles. Why don’t we all go to the library and get this and our other questions answered?”

The library was well stocked, courtesy of Olivier Mira Armstrong. As Scar entered with his class, he saw that Mistress Shan and her class (which included Arieh) were also in the library. They were translating a selection of the library books from Amestrian to Ishvalan. Scar knew that Mistress Shan’s ultimate goal was to have her class make their own additions to the library.

Scar’s class spent the rest of the day researching atoms (87 know types), how much a mole was (6.02214076×1023 particles), and what percentage of a mole’s body was water (unclear, but the class did learn a lot about moles). When the school day ended, Scar took his class to the front of the school for their parents to come pick them up. Soon, only Elior, Ilan, and Dror were left. Scar asked them if they were sure that Simon Segal was coming to pick them up.

“Yes,” Ilan said confidently. “He switched shifts at the farm so he would get off early enough to get us.”

“Very well,” Scar said. They waited a bit longer, but their father did not come. Scar looked at the position of the sun, which was getting lower in the horizon.

“Come with me to the Temple,” Scar said. “You can wait there while I attend to my priestly duties. If you father still hasn’t come, you can have dinner at my place, and I’ll find out where you dad is.”

At the Temple, Scar made lesson plans for the alchemist-soldiers, booked two weddings and a funeral, picked out a sermon for the next fast day, and retrieved the boys from the Temple roof. When it was supper time and Segal still had not come, Scar led the boys to the apartment complex where he lived. Dinner was already ready when they entered.

“Oh, there you are, Scar,” said Marcoh from the kitchen. “And we have dinner guests.”

“Their father did not pick them up from school,” Scar explained. “They have not had dinner.”

Glances were exchanged between Marcoh, Scar, Mistress Shan, and Burn, who all then began to loudly declare that they weren’t very hungry to begin with, so the children could have part of their portion.

Strongine chimed in, “I could take the little ones out for treats afterward.” She sounded a little unsure, but with an undertone that suggested that she felt she ought to do something.

“Good idea,” said Scar.

The household had only just finished eating when there came a knock at the door. Scar rose and opened it. Major Miles was standing behind it. He glanced around Scar to see that Dror was in Scar’s spot (due to limited table space, he’d been on Scar’s lap) and Elior and Ilan were on each of Burn’s legs.

“Oh, good, you have them,” Miles muttered. “Someone mentioned Mr. Segal had kids and that you were their teacher.”

“Let’s all go get a fruit cup!” Strongine broke in with excessive cheeriness. “Come on, kids. You, too, Arieh.”

“I’m not a child,” Arieh sulked.

“No,” Burn said, “but we need you to help watch the younger ones. Being older means being more responsible.”

“Okay,” Arieh said sheepishly, looking like he wasn’t sure if he bought the logic but didn’t know how to argue.

Despite the late hour, a great deal was still open in the market, and it was there that Strongine led them. It wasn’t a far walk from the residential district to the central, market area, but the children had a litany of complaints.

“Are we there yet?” Elior asked.

“No,” Strongine said. “We literally just left.”

“I’m going to wait here,” Arieh said. He sat down by the side of the road.

“Please yourself,” Strongine said.

“Did you know that before moles eat earthworms, they squeeze the dirt out of their bodies?” Dror asked.

“I did not.”

“Can we get ice cream?” Ilan asked.

“No, you’re getting fruit.”

“But ice cream is better,” Ilan protested.

“Fruit is better for you.”

“Did you know that the star nosed mole can smell underwater?” Dror asked.

“I did not.”

“You don’t know anything about moles, do you?” Ilan remarked.

“Clearly, that part of my education was lacking.”

“Are we there yet?” That was Elior again.

“Actually, we are,” Strongine said with relief as they turned the corner and arrived at the fruit cart. “What kind of fruit would you boys like?”

“Lychee,” said Elior.

“We don’t have lychee,” said the vendor.

“But I want lychee!” Elior whined.

“What fruit do you have?” Strongine asked.

“Watermelon or strawberry,” the vendor answered.

“I don’t like watermelon,” said Dror.

“Then get strawberry,” Strongine said.

“But I don’t like watermelon!” Dror protested, looking to be on the edge of tears.

“What about you, Elior?” Strongine asked.

“Watermelon,” Elior said. “And since Dror doesn’t like watermelon, I’ll have his, too.”

That was the point where Dror started to cry in earnest. Strongine looked at Ilan haplessly. “Which do you want?”

“Where’s Dad at?” Ilan asked.

“I don’t know,” Strongine said.

“I miss Dad,” Ilan said. “What if the State Alchemists got him?” Tears begin to stream down his face, as well.

Fumbling for the cens bills, Strongine ordered two strawberries cups and a watermelon cup. She gave Elior his, but was left holding the other two, as Dror and Ilan were both crying too much to eat. Elior ate his a bit, but halfway back to the apartment, Strongine realized that he was sniffling, as well.

“What’s the matter?” Strongine snapped and then instantly regretted the shortness of her words.

“What if the State Alchemists really did get Dad?” Elior asked, and then he started to cry, as well.

So it was that the quartet arrived back at the apartment complex, where Arieh rejoined them. The atmosphere inside was no less grim. Miles was sitting on the couch, back soldier straight. Scar was pacing in the hall. Marcoh was on a chair in the entrance to the kitchen, holding his head in his hands. Burn and Mistress Shan were on the loveseat. Burn had a comforting arm around Mistress Shan’s shoulders.

“What is it?” Strongine asked as they entered.

“Boys, I have some bad news,” Miles said, “Your father’s been arrested.”


	10. Chapter 10

With practiced calmness, Miles explained that Simon Segal had been arrested on charges of having started a riot.

“Dad’s not a criminal,” Ilan protested.

“I know he’s not,” Miles replied, “and us adults are going to get this sorted out. Until then, I need you boys to be brave. Can you do that for me?”

Amid sniffles and lingering sobs, Elior, Ilan, and Dror promised that they would.

“They can stay here for the night,” Scar said. Strongine rather thought the apartment was crowded enough as it was, but she didn’t have a better idea, so she didn’t say anything.

“They can have my mat,” Marcoh offered. “I can sleep…” He looked around the cramped apartment. “Well, I’ll find a spot.”

“They can have my loveseat,” Arieh offered. “I don’t fit on it, anyway.”

“Yes you do,” Burn said.

“Don’t,” insisted Arieh. As a demonstration, he laid down on the loveseat, and Burn was forced to agree that his toes now dangled over the side.

“When did that happen?” Burn scowled.

Arieh shrugged. “I don’t know. It just did!”

“We’ll figure that out tomorrow,” Scar said. “It’s getting late. For tonight, why don’t the younger boys sleep in the master bed. It’s big enough. Strongine and I can sleep on the floor.”

“Wha-” Strongine started to say, but then she swallowed her words before anyone noticed them. It was just for the night. She would survive.

Everyone got ready for bed, and right before they fell asleep, Strongine remembered that she hadn’t told Scar about her day.

“We can’t rent our own apartment,” she muttered sleepily. “The building manager says Armstrong money is no good.”

“I’ll let Miles and the Major General know,” Scar said. “Something unpleasant is going on.”

\---

The next morning, Scar helped Elior, Ilan, and Dror get ready and then led them to school. He had planned to teach them more about the periodic table, but Simon Segal’s arrest was the only thing any of the children wanted to talk about.

Devora Heyman raised her hand, and after he called on her, she asked, “Is my mommy going to get arrested?”

“Hopefully not,” Scar said. He had given up on the planned lesson. After all, this conversation was important, as well.

“Do we have to go to the Armstrong Mansion?” Aliza Mittelman asked. She turned to Devora. “The government can’t arrest you if you’re there. When I really small, we had to stay there. It’s huge.”

“Why does the government arrest people?” Devora asked. Scar’s answer to her question, while honest, had not been reassuring.

“It’s ‘cause of the State Alchemists,” Ilan said.

“You killed a bunch of the State Alchemists, didn’t you, Mr. Scar?” Elior asked.

“I did,” Scar intoned.

“But not all of them,” Aliza said. “Alex Armstrong is still alive, but Lady Olivier disowned him.”

Dror flinched at the name “Alex Armstrong,” and Ilan put his arm around him. “It’s okay,” Ilan assured him. “He can’t hurt you. Not with Scar here.”

Devora raised her hand. After Scar called on her, she asked, “What other State Alchemist are there?”

It was Rick Fabel who answered. “Roy Mustang is a State Alchemist.”

“That is correct,” Scar said. Rick was the boy who, along with his grandfather, had saved Scar after his fight with Lust and Gluttony. “Tim Marcoh used to be a State Alchemist,” he added.

“Wait, really?” Elior asked.

“But he’s nice!” Ilan protested.

“He is trying to atone for his past crimes,” Scar explained. “But he did not used to be nice.” He thought. “There is also Basil Chol- Chud- there is also the State Alchemist who the Amestrians claim owns the farmer where Mr. Segal worked.” Scar wisely refrained from mentioning Cholmondeley’s State Alchemist name. He wished to keep the class at least somewhat focused.

There were a handful of other State Alchemists that Scar had researched but not had a chance to kill before his plans had changed, and he named these as well. Then he taught his class about the Extermination Campaign. They’d all been too young to remember it, although they had of course lived through the Exile that came afterward. Most of them had been taught – or had overheard – bits and pieces from their parents, and so Scar sought to give them a bigger picture understanding. He went gently with the lesson, as the children had been through so much already.

\---

After the school day ended, Scar, Dror, Ilan, and Elior waited while all of the other children were picked up, and then they went to the Temple for a bit, and then he led the boys to the apartment.

“Good evening, Scar, boys,” Marcoh said when they entered. The boys responded with fearful looks. Marcoh raised an eyebrow at Scar.

“We learned about State Alchemists today,” Scar said curtly.

“Right, of course,” Marcoh said. “Can’t have the next generation growing up ignorant.” He carefully set down the frying pan he’d been holding and crouched down in front of the boys, so that he was eye level with them. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

Elior and Ilan looked back and forth from each other, and Dror stayed behind him.

“_Why_?” Ilan asked finally. A great deal of betrayal went into the single word.

“The government offered me a great deal of money to research a number of topics that I wanted to pursue very much,” Marcoh explained. He paused and drew breath. “All I had to do in exchange was be willing to hurt people I didn’t know.” He looked down and chose his next words carefully. “Choosing to do that made me a terrible person. Because when you hurt people, well, you can’t just go back around later and unhurt them.” Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Arieh watching them. “So you all must be good boys and make Ishval proud, okay?”

“Right,” said Elior and Ilan. Dror nodded, as well.

“Why don’t you boys help Mistress Shan set the table?” Scar suggested. “Arieh, will you give me a hand?”

“Sure,” Arieh said. “What is it?”

“I’m going to add a basement,” Scar said. “You’ll have your own room, and there will be a room for the boys for now.”

“I’d like that,” Arieh said and followed Scar’s instructions. They broke when Marcoh informed them that dinner was ready and then finished after they had eaten and Scar had finished the dishes. So it was that one corner of the living room had a staircase that wound down to a hall, off of which was two bedrooms and a bathroom.

“I’ll go by your old apartment in the morning and get your bedding from there,” Strongine promised the boys. “And I’ll buy furniture for Arieh.”

“I’m fine sleeping on the floor for tonight if it means that I finally get my own room!” Arieh enthused.

\---

Marcoh completed the water purification system. Scar brought Marcoh to the Temple to explain the mechanics of it to the populace. The more people who knew how to operate the system, the better. Marcoh hadn’t been in the Temple before, and it made him uneasy to be there. He felt a weight on his left shoulder. Glancing to the side, he saw that Scar had put his hand there. Marcoh felt himself relax. A though flickered across his mind; it was Scar’s right hand that was holding him. Marcoh chuckled to himself and then addressed the crowd.

“I am here with you today because Scar tasked me with applying my alchemy to good use,” he began. After that, Marcoh found his footing. He found himself talking crisply about the mechanics of his systems and how to use it. After that, there was a question and answer session. To his relief, the questions were only technical in nature.

When he had finished, Scar took the floor. “There is more that we have accomplished.” Reaching into his the pocket of his robes, he pulled out a large diamond. “This was made with alchemy. It and others like it will be sold in the Xingese market. I’ve been training a small class, but if there are others who’d like to learn how to make gemstones, please talk to me afterward. And if there are those who want to be responsible for providing water to the community, speak to Marcoh.”

There were volunteers for both groups, and then the crowd dispersed until it was just Scar and Marcoh.

“I’m happy to have accomplished this,” Marcoh said.

Scar gave a curt nod. “It’s not over yet. Kimblee’s not going to be happy when the stream of cens dries up.”

\---

Sinclair Kimblee’s man in Ishval collected the money from pump usage weekly. The cens brought in varied slightly from week to week, but it was overall steady. Until suddenly it dropped sharply. Kimblee’s man was observed asking around in Ishval, but the Ishvalans responded with blank stares and silence. Clearly realizing that he was getting nowhere, Kimblee’s man left and headed for a pay phone.

A few hours later, Miles received a phone call. The voice on the other end was distorted when they spoke.

“Who is this?” Miles demanded.

“A friend,” the voice said. “I have news. Kimblee knows about the pumps.”

“Oh? How’d he take it?” Miles asked.

“Better than his notorious cousin,” the voice said, “but only because Sinclair Kimblee is not an alchemist and so cannot launch blast attacks by putting his hand together. However, he can complain to Grumman, which is what he did.”

“What did Grumman say?”

“He told Mustang to take care of it. Mustang promised to put someone on it.”

From what Miles’ observed, that person was Everhart. He was spotted investigating the pipes that led to the pumps. Unlike Kimblee’s man, Everhart could at least recognize alchemic marks for what they were, even if he didn’t know what they did. He could recognize but not read Ishvalan, as well. He reasoned he didn’t need to know what it said. As far as Everhart knew, there were only two alchemists in Ishval: Scar and Dr. Marcoh.

He decided to talk to Dr. Marcoh. He knew, intellectually, that Marcoh had killed more people than Scar. He also knew, emotionally, that Scar scared him more. Locating Marcoh was not difficult. Everhart was aware that he worked at the Free Clinic. The door was opened by an Ishvalan woman.

“I need to speak to Dr. Tim Marcoh,” Everhart said.

The woman stepped aside and jerked her finger toward the back. Everhart silently went past her. Marcoh didn’t seem surprised to see him.

“What did you do the pumps, Doc?” Everhart asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, soldier,” Marcoh replied.

“Mustang’s not happy,” Everhart said. The thought crossed his mind that if he had confronted Scar, he could have had him arrested. Then he remembered that that would have involved confronting Scar. He decided that he had made the right choice, after all.

“I’m sorry,” Marcoh said, not sounding sorry at all, “but I’ve got a great deal of work on my plate. Mustang’s going to have to manage his own happiness.”

“There will be consequences for this,” Everhart said.

“That may be so,” Marcoh said firmly, “but unless you’re here for a checkup, I really must be getting on with my work.”

“Mustang is going to hear about this,” Everhart said. Then he turned on his heel and left.

Marcoh had Dr. Abrams cover for him. He found Scar at the Temple and told him what had transpired.

\---

It took two days for the promised consequences to arrive. They coincided with the arrival of Brigadier General Roy Mustang in person at Miles’ office.

“Sir!” Miles said, rising and saluting when Mustang entered. “I hadn’t been informed that you would be visiting Ishval.”

“I came here to inform you that Simon Segal has been tried and convicted,” Mustang said stiffly.

Miles nodded. As far as he was aware, Segal had not left his jail cell, but Amestrian courts did not require the defendant to be present to convict them. “Yes, sir,” Miles said.

“He is to be publically whipped and then imprisoned in Central,” Mustang said. “He got twenty years.”

“When is this to happen, sir?” Miles asked.

“In ten minutes,” Mustang said. “Soldiers have been directing everyone to the market.”

Miles swore. “I didn’t order-”

“I did,” Mustang said curtly. He sighed wearily. “If you’d done your job, Major, I wouldn’t have to play the bad guy.”

Mustang turned on his heel and left. He’d barely gone when Scar burst into Miles’ office. He was holding Elior with one hand and Ilan with the other. Dror had Ilan’s other hand.

“Soldiers!” Scar spat. “They came into my classroom! With guns! They said-“

The boys, who had been quiet until now, started sniffling.

“Shh, shh,” Scar said. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to make it okay.” He turned his attention back to Miles. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Not in this weather, you’re not,” Miles said. “Besides, there’s too many civilians and too many soldiers with guns. It’d be a bloodbath.”

The door to Miles’ office opened again, and Marcoh burst in, out of breath. “Saw…you…come this…way,” he finally managed. He took a few breaths and recovered. “What do you need me to do?”

Scar thought for a moment. “We need to be there,” he told Miles. “Even if we can’t stop it.” He looked down at the boys. “But they don’t need to see this. I want you three to stay here, with Marcoh. Can you do that for me?” He looked at Miles. “That’s okay, right?”

“Absolutely,” Miles said.

“I’ve got them,” Marcoh promised. The boys, who had grown accustom to living downstairs from Marcoh at this point, nodded. Scar and Miles left.

It was Dror who spoke first. “Are they going to…to…” He swallowed hard and finally got the words out. “Are they going to kill Dad like they did my first mom and dad?”

Marcoh looked at him, confused. It was Ilan who explained. “Dror’s adopted. The Strongarm Alchemist collapsed his house when we were babies. He was the only one who survived, and Dad and Mom took him in.”

“Your mother-”

“She passed away four years ago,” Elior said sadly. “The winter was really cold that year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Marcoh said. He turned to Dror. “Your father isn’t going to be killed, but it might be some time before he can come home.”

“Hey, Doc?” Ilan asked.

“Yes, Ilan?”

“Could you beat the Flame Alchemist in a fight?”

“Unlikely,” Marcoh said.

“Why not?” demanded Elior. “You used to be a State Alchemist, too!”

“I’m decent at close range, but Mustang is a distance fighter,” Marcoh explained. "That makes him a formidable opponent." 

The rest of the day was long and miserable, and everyone went to bed in poor spirits.

\---

Major Alex Armstrong was stationed in West City when the letter arrived for him. He immediately put in a transfer for the Ishval division. As soon as the transfer was approved, he packed his things and bought a ticket East.

“Don’t forget-” his former commanding officer began to tell him as he walked out the door.

“I must go!” Major Armstrong declared, which was how he boarded the train without his letters of transit. These were requested of him when he tried to take the train in East City to Ishval.

“If you’ve been transferred to Ishval, you’d have been given letters of transit,” the corporal on duty argued.

“I have no such letters!” Major Armstrong shouted. “If I can’t take the train, I will rent a camel!”

“No, you don’t understand,” the corporal tried to explain, gesturing for another soldier (a private) to follow him, “if you don’t have letters of transit, you can’t enter Ishval.” But Major Armstrong wasn’t listening.

The corporal and the private followed Major Armstrong to the camel renting establishment. As a last ditch attempt to stop him, they each grabbed him by one arm. Major Armstrong barely seemed to notice and mounted the camel with no difficulty. The soldiers began to consider their folly, as they were now hanging several feet off the ground, but Major Armstrong set the camel off at a gallop, and they were afraid to let go. Halfway through the journey, Major Armstrong began to worry that the camel was getting too tired and decided that he would carry it instead. So it was that Major Armstrong arrived in the central market of Ishval with a camel slung over his shoulders and the corporal and the private now sitting astride the camel’s back. Scar was summoned.

“What is going on?” he asked flatly, as he took in the sight. It was a serious question. He had no idea what he was looking at.

Major Armstrong set the camel with the two soldiers on it down. He smiled broadly and approached Scar with open arms.

“Brother!” Major Armstrong shouted.

“I may be married to Strongine Armstrong,” Scar replied coolly, “but you were disowned. You are not my brother.”

“Blood is stronger than Olivier’s wishes,” Major Armstrong insisted, wrapping Scar in a tight hug. “You are the soon-to-be-father of my first niece or nephew. That makes us kin.”

It took a moment for Scar to process Major Armstrong’s words.

“What.”


	11. Chapter 11

Scar had been teaching when he’d received word that Major Alex Armstrong, the Strongarm Alchemist, had arrived in Ishval. That posed a dilemma. Most of the Ishvalan homes that Scar had built did not have telephones. He could not simply abandon the children in his class. At the same time, he was needed in the central market place.

“I’ll handle the situation,” Scar told Gilah Mittelman, who had delivered the message. “Why don’t you take your daughter home for the rest of the day, and I’ll go speak to your cousin?”

“He’s technically my husband’s cousin,” Gilah muttered and then added, “Thank you, Master Scar.” She gestured for Aliza to come with her.

Excusing himself from his class momentarily, he stepped into Mistress Shan’s class. He repeated to her what Gilah had told him.

“I can’t just leave the children,” Scar said quietly.

“I’ll watch them,” Mistress Shan said. She turned back to her class. “Arieh! Go fetch your uncle. Tell him what happened and that he’s needed.”

“What did happen?” Arieh asked. Mistress Shan explained, and he took off and returned twenty minutes later with Burn. They were both out of breath.

“Another State Alchemist?” Burn asked, once he’d had a chance to recover.

“Yes,” Scar said. He frowned. “I wish Miles’ army could handle this, but they aren’t ready to take on the Strongarm Alchemist. I’ve fought him before. He’s no easy opponent.”

Burn made a spitting motion. “I wouldn’t trust the army to tell me it’s sunny out.”

Scar realized what he had said and shook his head. Lowering his voice to ensure that the entire class couldn’t hear, he explained, “Miles and some trusted soldiers from Briggs have been training Ishvalans. They’ll be fine alchemist-soldiers for our land when they’re ready.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this?” Burn demanded indignantly – and loudly. Scar made a shushing motion, as a number of students were now craning their ears to try and overhear.

“You do enough as it is,” Scar whispered, “and we did not want to say anything prematurely.”

“Still, the Major’s been doing this?” Burn asked, his voice low again.

“Of course,” Scar said.

Burn moaned. “That’s why he’s been playing loyal lap dog, is it? To stop undo attention from exposing this project?”

“Yes,” Scar said. “It’s been very hard on him.”

“Ah…” Burn said, a number of emotions flitting across his face.

“Please help Mistress Shan watch my class while I confront Major Armstrong,” Scar said. Using alchemy, he opened up the wall between the two classrooms and headed for the market, which was where Gilah had said Major Armstrong had been headed.

\---

By the time Scar finally managed to wrestle himself out of Major Armstrong’s bear hug, a number of other people had arrived in the central market. Among these was Strongine. This was part of the reason Scar was able to get free; Major Armstrong wanted to embrace his sister, as well.

“I’m here for you, Sis!” Major Armstrong declared.

“Oh, um, Alex, hi,” said Strongine awkwardly. “What are you doing in Ishval?”

“I can’t let you go through your pregnancy alone!”

Strongine shot a venomous look at Amue, who had just arrived with Major Miles. The latter of the two wrested Major Armstrong away from Strongine and kept a close eye on him, lest he try to hug anyone else.

“Well, I didn’t tell him,” Amue hissed in reply. Then she added a bit guiltily. “I just told Mother and Father.”

“I’m going to be a father?” Scar asked. He was still grappling with the news. “How far are along are you?”

“Roughly four months,” said Dr. Abrams, who had just arrived with Dr. Marcoh.

“Just had the quickening two days ago,” Strongine added quietly.

“May I feel?” Scar asked in an awed voice.

“Oh, all right,” Strongine said.

Scar got down on his knees. Strongine lifted up her blouse part of the way, and Scar put his cheek to his wife’s midsection. A joyous smile broke across his face when he felt a kick.

“I’m going to be a daddy!” he exclaimed after he had stood back up.

“Congratulations,” Miles said, “but we have other business that is more pressing.” He jerked his thumb at Major Armstrong. “What’s he doing here?”

“I was transferred,” said Major Armstrong.

“Oh yeah?” asked the corporal, still astride the camel. “Where are your letters of transit?”

“I have no such letters!” Major Armstrong proclaimed.

“Then you can’t transfer to Ishval,” the corporal retorted.

“While that’s technically true, sir,” the private said quietly, “he appears to have completed the transfer without them. And without them, he can’t leave Ishval by official channels. For that matter, sir, neither can we, unless you want to brave the desert again. We don’t have letters of transit, either.”

Miles overheard. “I’ll call Brigadier General Mustang and see about getting your situation sorted out. Before that, however, I think I a community meeting is in order.”

“To the Temple, everyone,” Scar shouted, a stupid smile still on his face.

“Not you two,” Marcoh said to the corporal and the private, who had clambered off the camel and started to follow. “We can wait outside. You too, Major Armstrong.”

Marcoh, Major Armstrong, the corporal, and the private trailed the crowd that disappeared into the spacious innards of the Temple. The private looked up at to the topmost peak and gave a low whistle.

“Impressive,” he said. “Didn’t know they had stuff like this in Ishval.”

“They do,” Marcoh said.

“What happened to your face?” Major Armstrong asked suddenly.

“What? Oh! That was years ago. Needed to be unrecognizable during the Bradley administration.”

The corporal was also studying the Temple. “They really make this in two years?” he asked.

Marcoh nodded. “Scar used alchemy. It’s a recreation of the one in Kanda that was destroyed.”

“Scar,” repeated the corporal. “So that _was_ him.”

“Yes,” said Marcoh.

“He’s a murder,” said the corporal. “He ought to be in jail.”

“The same is true for me,” Marcoh replied, “and Major Armstrong here. And Brigadier General Mustang.”

The corporal opened his mouth to say more, but he found Major Armstrong looming over him. He gulped as the Strongarm Alchemist turned his glare on him.

“Scar is the husband of my sister,” Major Armstrong boomed. “Thanks to him, I’m about to be an uncle. Or, to be fair, possibly an aunt. And I’ll not have the baby growing up without its daddy. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the corporal managed weakly.

He elbowed the private, who echoed him. “That’s right, sir.”

“Then everything’s settled,” said Marcoh happily. “I’m sure Major Miles will have you two back to your posts in no time.”

Inside the Temple, Major Alex Armstrong was the topic of debate.

“Can we make him go away?” Burn asked.

“If he’s really been transferred here, that might be difficult,” Miles said.

“Why is he here?” asked Nitzan Orenstein, who was Dr. Abrams’ brother-in-law.

“I’d like to know that, too,” said Libi Heyman. She was the older sister of Scar’s student Devora, and along with Orenstein, she was training to be one of the alchemist-soldiers of Ishval.

Strongine raised a hand. Even in the crowd, everyone could see her. “Uh, for those that haven’t heard, Scar and I are having a baby.”

This announcement was followed by murmurs of excitement, calls of congratulation, and cries of “Praise Ishvala!”

“Anyway,” Strongine continued, when the noise had settled down, “Alex wants to help out.”

“Is that truly his only intention?” the Supreme Cleric asked.

Amue cut in. “I’m not defending my brother’s crimes, but he’s not one for duplicity.”

“He’s hardly the only State Alchemist currently in Ishval,” Burn added.

“Yeah,” Dr. Abrams countered, “but is he going to be working at the Free Clinic or something else?”

The debate raged until Miles finally held up two hands for quiet. “I’ll speak with Brigadier General Mustang about getting him transferred back. If that doesn’t work, I have some other ideas. I will also arrange for the two soldiers to get sent back home. However, it may take some time for these to be enacted. Please have patience and bear with me.”

The impromptu meeting adjourned. Miles told the corporal and the private where they could get temporary lodgings until Miles could get them sent home. Amue suggested that her brother get a room at the same inn as her.

“But I want to get to know Strongine’s family!” Major Armstrong protested. He bound over to where Scar, Strongine, Elior, Ilan, Dror, Mistress Shan, Burn, Arieh, and Marcoh had gathered. Major Armstrong grinned at them. “Is this your old mother?” he asked Scar about Mistress Shan.

“I should think not!” Mistress Shan retorted.

“Brother?” Major Armstrong asked about Burn.

“Unfortunately, no,” Burn said.

“Are these boys yours?” Major Armstrong asked Scar about the children.

“We’re caring for them,” Scar said.

Major Armstrong nodded at Dror, who had hidden himself behind Scar as soon as Major Armstrong had approached. “He’s a shy one.”

“You killed his parents,” Scar said.

It was at that point that Amue grabbed hold of her brother and steered him away from Scar’s household. The group began walking back to their apartment. As they went, Arieh fell back, until he was walking alongside Marcoh.

“Arieh,” Burn called, a note of worry in his voice. He slowed his walk to half turn to watch the teenager.

“I’m fine,” Arieh replied. “I’m not a child anymore. I can walk where I want.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

“Okay,” Burn said. Turning forward again, he resumed his usual pace.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Arieh said to Marcoh.

Marcoh nodded. “I know that no apology will be sufficient,” he began.

“Stow it,” Arieh said. He rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows you’re super sorry about being a war criminal. Everyone sees how hard you work at the Free Clinic. My family’s still dead. Nothing you do’s going to make them not dead. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“It isn’t?” Marcoh asked, surprised.

“You knew about the nation-wide transmutation circle way early, right?” Arieh asked.

“I did,” Marcoh confirmed.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Tell the public, that sort of thing?”

“I was a coward,” Marcoh answered honestly. “I was afraid what would have happened to me if I did.”

Arieh nodded. “Okay, this Major Armstrong. Mrs. Strongine’s brother. What do you make of him?”

“In what sense?”

“Do you trust him?”

“No,” Marcoh said simply.

“You think he’s lying about why he’s here?”

“No.”

“Then you think he’s a coward, too?”

“Every State Alchemist who didn’t stand up to Bradley was either a coward or a sadist or greedy,” Marcoh said. “Major Armstrong is still enlisted in the military. He’s still a State Alchemist.”

“Meaning?”

“With the road that Ishval is on, he’s going to have to choose.”

“I think I understand,” said Arieh. “I appreciate you answering my questions. And Marcoh?”

“Yes, Arieh?”

“You do work hard at the Free Clinic. And I’m glad Scar and Uncle provide for you. I know you don’t get paid.”

“Thank you, Arieh,” Marcoh said, with a smile.

\---

The next time Scar saw Major Armstrong was two days later. School for the children had ended, and as had become routine, Scar had led Elior, Ilan, and Dror to the Temple, where a small group of prospective alchemist-soldiers met him.

Today’s lesson was on center of mass and structural integrity. It was Scar’s first time giving the lesson. He’d repeat it several times over the course of the next week, each time to a different group of soldiers. The first time he gave a lesson was always the hardest. For later sessions, he could made tweaks based upon the first time, but the initial lesson had no precedent.

“To calculate the center of gravity for an object, imagine the object is composed of a large number of grains of sand,” Scar lectured. Nitzan Orenstein and Libi Heyman were both in his class today. Orenstein’s eyes were glazing over. Heyman’s eyes were distractedly looking at the intricate patterns that decorated the inside of the Temple.

Scar coughed. They both snapped to attention, but it did not last long after he began speaking again. He floundered for a different tactic.

“Maybe a physical demonstration would be in order?” he suggested.

“What?” Orenstein asked abruptly, having been startled out of his stupor. The other alchemist-soldier students – there were about a dozen in all – stirred, as well. The class definitely needed to get their blood pumping.

“Everyone stand up!” Scar instructed. “Help me get this rug rolled back.” The floor of the Temple was sandstone, as was much of the Temple. Large area rugs covered the stone, which Scar had made smooth with alchemy.

Scrambling, the students did as they were bidden. When they had finished, Scar indicated for them to gather around close. Crouching down, he put his palms to the floor. There was the crackle of alchemy at work, and a house rose up around them, with the roof coming to a peak above them. The house had a four doors placed symmetrically about it. So tall and wide was the central room of the Temple that the house Scar created didn’t crowd the walls or ceiling in the slightest.

Scar stood up and looked around to ensure he was in the center of the house. He raised his right hand to above his head.

“This is the center of gravity for the house,” he explained.

“Um, Master?” Heyman asked.

“Yes?”

“There’s nothing there. You’re pointing at empty space.”

“It is still the center of gravity.”

“How can nothing be the center of gravity of an object?” Heyman asked.

“Maybe if we could do some alchemy ourselves?” Orenstein suggested. “That might help us understand better.”

“Yeah!” agreed Heyman. “Teach us battle alchemy!”

“It’s too risky,” Scar said firmly. “We can’t risk exposure.”

“I can teach you battle alchemy!” a loud voice boomed from outside of the house – but from within the walls of the Temple that surrounded it.

Scar and the prospective alchemist-soldiers exited the house Scar had constructed to find Major Alex Armstrong standing there. Scar scowled at Major Armstrong’s feet. He had not removed his boots before he had entered the Temple.

“Watch this,” Major Armstrong said. Pulling his alchemy gloves on, he first removed a hunk stone from the floor. Tossing it into the air, he punched it. As it left him, the alchemist-soldiers saw it turn into a spike. The spike slammed into the corner of the house Scar had constructed, causing much of it to collapse. As the noise from the destruction subsided, everyone perceived the sound of a child crying.

Scar looked around wildly until he finally spotted Dror, Elior, and Ilan in the doorway of one of the side rooms of the Temple. They had been watching affairs, and it was Dror who was sobbing.

“Dror!” Scar called. Dror shook his head and ran, taking a flight of stairs to an upper level of the Temple.

“That’s-” Major Armstrong began.

“The child of the couple you murdered by collapsing their house? Yes,” Scar finished.

“I’ll talk to him,” Major Armstrong promised.

“No you won’t!” Scar retorted, but Major Armstrong had already set off. Scar took off after him, but Major Armstrong was taller and had longer legs. When Scar finally found Dror, Major Armstrong was already talking to him.

“Things are getting bad again, it looks like,” Major Armstrong was telling Dror, who was crying inconsolably. Major Armstrong continued talking. “But this time, I’m going to do things differently. This time, I’m going to keep little children like you safe.”

“Dror,” Scar said, pushing past Major Armstrong and scooping the crying child in his arms. “Hush, child. It’s all right. The house downstairs was empty. No one got hurt.” He glared at Major Armstrong, who did not wither in his gaze.

“I won’t tell Mustang what you’re doing,” Major Armstrong said.

Scar didn’t say anything.

“I want to help,” Major Armstrong said. “Not just with Strongine’s pregnancy.”

In Scar’s arms, Dror’s sobs were beginning to quiet.

“I know battle alchemy,” Major Armstrong said.

It was Dror who finally spoke, in a quiet, unsure voice. “He wants to help out like Dr. Marcoh?”

“That’s right, little man,” Major Armstrong said.

Dror buried his face in Scar’s shoulder. “I want to go home. I want dinner.”

“Please excuse us,” Scar said.

They did not head home right away because when they came downstairs, they found Burn waiting for them. The class was gone. Burn held a bag with the day’s groceries in one hand.

“I told them I needed to speak to you,” Burn said. “Privately.”

“Then we’ll need to wait until the Strongarm Alchemist leaves,” Scar said, setting Dror down. Major Armstrong came tramping down the stairs just then and left the Temple. Scar used alchemy to put the Temple back in order and then had Burn help him roll the carpet back down.

“Don’t leave me,” Dror said to Scar when that was finished.

“I won’t,” Scar promised. “I just need to talk to Burn privately. Will you, Elior, and Ilan go wait at the other end of the room? I’ll have eyes on you the entire time.”

Dror nodded, and he and his brothers headed to out of earshot.

“What did the Strongarm Alchemist want?” Burn asked.

“To help,” Scar said. He explained what had happened.

“We put too much on our children,” Burn said.

“We do,” Scar said. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

“I made a mistake,” Burn started.

“We all make mistakes,” Scar said kindly.

“No, I mean, I _sinned_.”

“Open confession is good for the soul,” Scar quoted from the Holy Scriptures. “What is it that you have done?”

“My sin involves a woman,” Burn said wretchedly.

Scar was beginning to see where this was going. “This woman, you kissed her?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“But?”

“I rode her like a pony,” Burn finally managed, forcing the words out in a quick burst. He tried to meet Scar’s eye but ended up looking at the floor instead.

“Was this affair consensual?” Scar asked.

Burn looked up sharply. “What? I would never- It was consensual.” A small smile played across his lips at the memory. “She was very willing.”

“This is not something you should brag about,” Scar said severely.

The smile disappeared abruptly from Burn’s face. “Right, sorry.”

“This woman, is she married?” Scar asked. Marriage made the difference between fornication and adultery under traditional Ishvalan law.

“Er…no,” Burn said. “But she’s…with someone.”

“Engaged?”

Burn shook his head. “Not formally.”

“I see,” Scar said. Dating wasn’t something Ishvalans traditionally did. The proper way was to have a dinner or three with the families and then become engaged. For fornication to be a sin, courtship could not be extensive. Marriage was typically entered when one was in one’s late teens or early twenties. As prudish as Scar could be, he knew it was unrealistic to expect most people to wait longer than that.

But the Extermination Campaign and Exile had changed things. It should not have surprised him that Amestrian ideas of courtship had crept in. Nor could he blame Burn for having been unable to find a suitable spouse while living among the ruins of Xerxes.

“It was only the one time?” Scar asked.

Burn nodded.

“Keep it that way,” Scar said, “and Ishvala will forgive you. The woman…?”

Burn shook his head. “I tempted her. I won’t name her.”

“I see,” Scar said. “Then she will have to reconcile things with her beau on her own.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Norman Glass, an OC who appears in this chapter, previously showed up in Love Amidst the Northern Peaks. All relevant details are recapped in case you didn't read that story first.

The next morning, as everyone was getting ready for school, Dror tugged on Scar’s arm and asked to speak with him alone. Even with the added basement rooms, that was a difficult task. Thankfully, Mistress Shan overheard. When she and Scar began to usher the children to school, Mistress Shan guided Elior and Ilan to walk with Arieh and herself, leaving Scar and Dror to trail behind.

“What is it?” Scar asked in a low voice.

Dror looked down and kicked a rock along the road. “It’s about the Major. Mrs. Strongine’s brother. I was thinking about him all night.”

Scar peered down at him. Dror’s eyes did look rather tired. Scar realized that he must not have slept much.

“I won’t allow him to hurt you,” Scar assured him.

“He wants to help,” Dror said. “But when I see him, my chest gets all tight, and it’s like there’s not enough air. But he wants to help. If he doesn’t help, other kids’ parents might…might…like my birth parents were.”

“You have been thinking very mature thoughts,” Scar told him. It made him sad. Children should not have to consider such things.

“I’m trying to be strong,” Dror said, tears starting to well up in his eyes. “I want to be strong enough to let him help, but I don’t want him to!” He started to cry in earnest. Scar crouched down beside him.

“Hush, little one,” Scar told him. “Ishval will not rise or fall on the Strongarm Alchemist’s charity. I will make him stay away from the Temple.” He put his arms around Dror and hugged him until Dror’s tears stopped. “Now,” Scar said, “why don’t I put you up on my shoulders until we catch up with the others?”

\---

In his office at the military base in Ishval, Major Miles placed a call to Brigadier General Mustang.

“Hello, Captain,” Miles said when Riza Hawkeye picked up. Since Mustang had had Simon Segal publicly whipped, Miles and Mustang had not spoken. Captain Hawkeye had always informed him that Mustang was “busy” or that Miles had “just missed him”.

“Good day, Major,” Hawkeye said.

“I’m afraid that I really need to speak to the Brigadier General himself this time,” Miles said.

“I’m sorry. He’s busy sulking at the moment,” Hawkeye replied. “Can I take a message?”

“Hey!” Miles heard distantly through the phone. There was the sound of Mustang taking the phone from Hawkeye.

“Sir,” Miles said after Mustang picked up.

“Miles,” Mustang said.

“I’m calling about Major Armstrong, sir,” Miles said. There was no point beating around the bush.

“What about him?”

“I am requesting that he be transferred elsewhere, sir,” Miles said.

“Why?”

“No one likes him, sir,” Miles said.

“Deal with it,” Mustang said. In Miles’ office, the line went dead.

Miles put down the phone. As he went to make his next call, the phone began ringing again. Miles picked it up.

“Grumman wanted him executed,” Mustang said without preamble. “That rioter. Simon Segal. I intervened to protect him.”

“How very magnanimous of you, _sir_,” Miles said. Then he hung up the phone.

He sighed. He almost expected Mustang to call again, but he didn’t. Miles picked up the phone once more. That had gone about as well as he’d expected, but he had had to try. He dialed the number for Major General Armstrong’s office at Fort Briggs.

“Who is this?” Major General Armstrong demanded on the line after she picked up.

“It’s Major Miles, sir.”

“What do you want?”

“Sir, I’d like you to request that Major Alex Armstrong be transferred to Fort Briggs.”

“Why would I do that?”

“He’s in Ishval, sir.”

“He is? Why?” Major General Armstrong demanded.

“He says he wants to be here for Strongine,” Miles said.

“Be there for Strongine…?” Major General Armstrong echoed, her confusion evident.

“For her pregnancy,” Miles continued.

“For her…” On the other end of the line, Major General Armstrong fell silent before speaking again. “Strongine’s pregnant??”

“Sorry, sir,” Miles said. “I thought that you knew.” He had assumed that when the elder Armstrongs wrote to Major Armstrong with the news, they would have written to their eldest daughter, as well.

“How far along is she?” Major General Armstrong asked.

“Fourish months,” Miles said.

“Didn’t waste any time, did they?” Major General Armstrong remarked.

“They did not, sir.”

“I’ll see about putting in that request,” Major General Armstrong said. “With hope, he’ll freeze to death on the way to the fort.”

“Thank you, sir,” Miles said. He had barely hung up the phone when there was a knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Scar. “Aren’t you usually at Temple at this time?” Miles asked.

“I am going to talk to the Strongarm Alchemist now. I could use your help.”

“I’d advise against murdering your brother-in-law,” Miles cautioned with a grin.

“I am just going to talk to him,” Scar said. “That’s why I need your help.” He explained the situation with Dror. “I’m not good at talking,” Scar finished. “I…forget. To tell people things.”

“You were alone for six years,” Miles said. “It was easy for me. Briggs has protocols about communication.”

They found Major Armstrong at the fountain that stood in the marketplace.

“Hello, Scar,” Major Armstrong said.

“Stay away from the Temple,” Scar started. “Dror doesn’t like to see you.”

“But I want to help,” Major Armstrong protested. He looked thoughtful. “Why is Dror there when you’re-” He lowered his voice to a whisper that was still far too loud for Scar’s liking. “-training your secret army.”

“I take Dror and the twins there with me after I finish teaching at school,” Scar explained.

“You’re a teacher?”

“Yes.”

“This is after school now, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“So where is little Dror?”

“I sent him home with Mistress Shan.”

“So…why not do that every day? Then I could come to the Temple. It’s only a problem if Dror is there, isn’t it?”

Scar was losing patience. “The youth of Ishval should never feel unwelcome at the Holy Temple!”

Miles chimed in. “Look, Major, you want to make amends, right?”

“Yes,” Major Armstrong said. “That’s why I want to help out at the Temple.”

Miles shook his head. “You made a small child feel powerless,” he said. “Respect his wishes by staying away from the Temple, and you begin to make amends by letting him feel powerful.”

Major Armstrong was silent for a minute as comprehension slowly dawned on his face. “Yes, I understand. I won’t enter the Temple again.”

“Thank you, Major,” Miles said. “Now, I need to be going.”

“Wait, Scar,” Major Armstrong said, and Scar hung back.

“What is it?” Scar asked.

Major Armstrong nodded to the fountain. “I was out at the ruins of Xerxes last night, and I came across a really large block of marble. I was thinking that I could add a statue to the center of the fountain.”

“A statue? What of?”

“I was thinking of doing a statue of you, if you don’t mind,” Alex said. “I think the classical style would fit you well.”

Scar hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” Major Armstrong asked.

“I am only a man,” Scar said. “I do not want to be put up on a pedestal.”

“What about the statue outside of the Free Clinic?” Major Armstrong asked.

“Your sister thought it wise to tell everyone that I was dead,” Scar explained. “I was recovering when that was constructed.” He sighed and then relented. “Traditionally, in Ishvalan art, if human figure is to be depicted – especially one people admire -”

“Like yourself.”

“Like myself,” Scar conceded, “it’s customary to conceal with the face with a veil. It shows modesty and humility.”

Major Armstrong beamed at him. “I can do that.”

“Then go ahead,” Scar said. It wasn’t entirely orthodox, but many people close to Scar had told him he was too rigid about matters. He knew that a statue of himself would make the denizens of the Settlement happy.

\---

Miles had barely returned to his office when the phone rang again. “Hello?” he said after he picked it up.

“Major,” the voice on the other end said, and he realized it was his mystery caller again. “Mustang just left Grumman’s office.”

“What transpired?” Miles asked.

“Didn’t catch all of it,” the voice said, “but it was pretty heated. Grumman said that if the carrot doesn’t work, you’ve got to use the stick. Mustang said, and I quote, ‘In all the time that Amestris has ruled Ishval, grinding the Ishvalans’ noses in the sand hasn’t made them an ounce less rebellious.’ To this, Grumman said something about Kimblee not being happy. Then he said that the taxpayers weren’t going to fund Mustang’s little project, so if he wanted to continue his martyr parade, he needed to keep Kimblee happy.”

“Is ‘martyr parade’ a direct quote?” Miles asked.

“Yep,” said the voice and then hung up.

\---

With alchemy, it did not take long for Major Armstrong to finish the statue. It was transported to the fountain in the dead of night, set into place, and covered with a canvas. A crowd gathered for the unveiling.

With a flourish, Major Armstrong pulled away the canvas covering the statue. Scar’s jaw dropped. It was a statue of Scar, all right. It depicted him in action, bringing his right hand around to attack an unseen opponent. The statue had been done with an extraordinary amount of detail. It showed every muscle of Scar’s body. True to his word, Scar’s face and hair was depicted covered in a veil, so that only his eyes could be seen. Nevertheless, Major Armstrong had captured a complicated interplay of emotions in the eyes of the statue.

“Classical style,” Miles remarked. “Nice.”

“Well, what do you think?” Major Armstrong asked eagerly. “I made sure to include the veil, so it would be modest.”

“The…the…proportions are off,” Scar sputtered finally. “My hands aren’t that big!”

Major Armstrong rubbed the back of his head. “Unavoidable, I’m afraid. I needed to make your feet bigger for balance. It wouldn’t have looked good if I didn’t make the hands larger as well.”

“Oh, dear,” Marcoh said. Scar turned just in time to see that Dr. Abrams had swooned and fainted. Marcoh had caught her and was gently laying her on the ground. “Give her room, everyone.”

“This statue might be dangerous,” Scar said dubiously.

“I’m fine!” Dr. Abrams exclaimed suddenly, reviving. “It’s a work of art.”

“Thank you,” Major Armstrong said.

“How did you make something like that?” Dr. Abrams gushed.

“It was easy,” Major Armstrong said. “I just took the block of marble and removed all the bits that weren’t the Statue of Scar. That’s what I’m calling it.”

“Want me to add a fig leaf?” Marcoh offered out of the side of his mouth.

Scar looked over at Miles. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful!” Miles said. He flushed slightly. “I know it’s not really Ishvalan style, but the art really is exquisite. But…uh…I guess it’s probably awkward for you.”

“He said it was going to be classical style,” Scar admitted, now realizing what that meant. He coughed. “He put the veil on, like he promised. So that I wouldn’t look like, um, a…”

“God?” Marcoh finished.

“Yes,” Scar agreed.

“No helping that, I’m afraid,” Marcoh said with a chuckle.

Scar finished taking in the totality of the statue. He lowered his voice so only Major Armstrong could hear him and pointed at part of the statue. “Ishvalan men don’t look like that.”

“What? Really??” Major Armstrong asked. “What do they look like?”

Scar thought how he might explain and then gave up. “Never mind. It’s fine the way it is.”

Miles and Scar left the market. “You really don’t mind about the statue?” Miles asked.

Scar thought hard, trying to sort out his feelings. “While it’s true that it’s not, er, what I was expecting,” he said finally, “nearly all of our art was destroyed, and we’ve had so little opportunity to create more. I didn’t want to take that away from you and Dr. Abrams and all the rest.”

“But Major Armstrong doesn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘modesty’?”

“In Ishvala’s name, YES!”

\---

“I didn’t know you were coming, Brigadier General.”

“Surprise visit, Major,” Mustang said. “Sit down.” Major Armstrong did so. They were in the makeshift office Major Armstrong had been given since his arrival in Ishval. Major Armstrong realized that it really must be a surprise visit; Brigadier General Mustang had entered through the window. Striding over to the door, Mustang locked it. Outside, Major Armstrong could see Captain Hawkeye keeping watch.

“How can I help you?” Major Armstrong asked.

“I need intel,” Mustang said. “About what the Ishvalans are doing.”

“You want me to spy on the Ishvalans?” Major Armstrong asked.

Mustang winced. “You don’t have to put it like that, but, yes.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, sir,” Major Armstrong said.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’d be asking me to spy on my nephew-to-be,” Major Armstrong said.

“Your nephew-to…what?”

“My sister married-” Major Armstrong started, but Mustang, his arms folded in front of his chest, cut him off.

“I refuse to believe it,” Mustang said.

“She did!” Major Armstrong protested.

“Uh uh,” Mustang said. “There’s no way Major General Armstrong married a man, Ishvalan or otherwise. She threw the flowers I gave her in the fire. If I couldn’t successfully woo her, no man has a chance.”

“That’s not true,” Major Armstrong protested almost automatically. “Olivier has been interested in lots, er, there have been men who have caught Olivier’s eye.”

“Oh, really? Name one.”

“Laurence Cholmondeley.”

“Oh, and how’d that work out?” Mustang demanded.

“I’d prefer not to answer,” Major Armstrong said diplomatically. Laurence was a sore subject in the Armstrong household. Age-wise, he’d been exactly between Major Armstrong and Major General Armstrong. She’d seen him first, and he’d reciprocated. Then Major Armstrong had slowly removed his shirt in front of Laurence one day at the Armstrong Mansion, and, well, things had gotten messy. In the end, no one had ended up happy.

“So who’s this Ishvalan man Major General Armstrong married?” Mustang asked.

“Scar,” Major Armstrong said, “but it’s not Olivier who married him. Strongine did.”

“Which one’s Strongine again?” Mustang asked.

“Middle child,” Major Armstrong said. “She’s the one with the beautiful straight hair. Amue has the beautiful curls. And Catherine’s the one who rejected Havoc.”

“Geeze,” Mustang said. “Can’t believe Scar got hitched. And he’s got a kid on the way?”

“Uh huh,” Major Armstrong confirmed. “I can’t betray their confidence. They’re _family_.” 

“Fine,” Mustang said. “I’ve got other spies.”

“Who?” Major Armstrong demanded.

“What?” Mustang asked.

“Who are you having spy on the Ishvalans?” Major Armstrong demanded.

“That’s above your security clearance,” Mustang said, his heart sinking. He glanced down at his gloves, to make sure that they were on. These were a new pair, and they did not have any transmutation marks drawn on them. Mustang didn’t need those, anymore, but he still needed the gloves to get a spark.

It was as Marcoh had said. Eventually, everyone has to choose.

\---

Miles received another call from his mystery informant.

“Mustang had a meeting with Grumman this morning,” the mystery informant said. “He promised to pay a visit to Glass Investigations. Sorry, I would have called earlier, but I wasn’t able to get away.”

“Glass Investigations,” Miles repeated before the name found its home in his memories. “Not Norman Glass by any chance?”

“You know him?”

“He tried to kill me back when I was at Briggs,” Miles said. “I knew he’d left the military. Didn’t know he’d become a private investigator.”

“Well, you’ll have a chance for an attempted homicide reunion,” the voice on the phone said. “From what I heard, he’ll be headed for Ishval. He might already be there.”

“Thanks,” Miles said. “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

“There’s one more thing, have you seen Major Armstrong around lately?”

With a frown, Miles realized that he hadn’t. “No,” he said.

“They’re trying to keep it quiet, but I’ve got news on that front.”

\---

After Miles hung up the phone, he set off to find Amue. She wasn’t at her hotel room. He decided to check the Free Clinic, in case she was taking Strongine to an appointment there or something.

“We’re just closing up,” Marcoh said, “I’m the only one here.”

“Maybe she’s getting something at the market,” Miles mused. “Have a good night.”

As Miles started to set off, there was a crash from inside the Free Clinic.

“Sounds like the back window,” Marcoh said. “Probably some child hit it with their ball. It shouldn’t take long to repair it with alchemy, and then I’ve got to get home and get started on dinner.”

Miles set off for the market at a trot. His instinct was correct. Amue was there. She was setting up a stall.

“Hello, Major,” she said. “What do you think?”

The sign above the stall read Fine Ishvalan Jewelry.

“It’s lovely,” Miles said tersely.

“We’re set to start selling tomorrow,” Amue said and then caught the look on Miles’ face. “What wrong?”

“It’s your brother,” Miles said. He took a deep breath. “He’s been arrested.”

\---

At the Free Clinic, Marcoh headed to the back. As he had suspected, the window had been broken. Much to his surprise, however, there was an Amestrian man standing there. The man was holding a gun.

“Dr. Marcoh?” the man asked.

“Speaking,” Marcoh said.

“Norman Glass,” the man introduced himself. He waved his gun. “I was in the military, so I’m fully qualified to use this. Now, I’ve given you my name because we’re going to have a conversation, by which I mean I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot! We're at the halfway point! A big shout out to everyone who's read this far!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bald appears (albeit unnamed) in an early chapter of the manga, but the story was cut for Brotherhood.

After having been arrested, tried, and publicly whipped, Simon Segal had been assigned to Cell Block G in Central City Prison. Each cell in Cell Block G contained the following:

  1. A bunk bed
  2. Two shelves for personal items
  3. A toilet
  4. A sink

Not anywhere near the cell blocks were Simon’s children, whom he missed dreadfully and worried about constantly.

Three of the walls of the cell were stone and the last was bars. Simon Segal shared his cell with Bald. Simon didn’t know any other name for the man or if that was a nickname or his birth name. Certainly, Bald was not bald. He had black hair, an eyepatch over his right eye, quite a bit of discoloration and scars from where Mustang had burned him, and he was missing his left arm. He’d had an automail arm previously, but it had been taken from him after he’d been arrested, and a new prosthetic (not outfitted with weapons) had not been provided.

When Simon had first arrived, they’d swapped stories and discovered that not only had they both suffered at Mustang’s hands, they’d both met at least one of the Elric brothers previously. After hearing Bald’s tale of how the elder Elric had stopped his attempt to take Major General Halcrow hostage, Simon was glad that it was Alphonse Elric who had traveled with Scar to the slums outside of Asbec.

They’d hit things off well. The Eastern Liberation Front had opposed the military because the military had coopted civilian homes in the east to quarter troops when fighting in the Civil War. While operations had been scaled down after the Extermination Campaign had ended, maintaining the blockade had meant that some soldiers had stayed. Simon and Bald had quickly discovered that they had similar feelings about the government and military, even if the feelings came from different places. Bald was an impressive fighter, even with one arm, and he took Simon under his metaphorical wing. Simon, in turn, helped Bald with tasks that were more easily accomplished with two hands. Bald had had the top bunk before Simon arrived, but he’d insisted that Simon take it. Bald didn’t trust the prison guards not to try and hurt Simon for being Ishvalan. “It won’t be much,” Bald had explained, “but if I’m on the lower bunk, I can run interference better.”

Bald was rubbing a salve he’d wrangled up on Simon’s healing back when the soldiers brought the Strongarm Alchemist in. The little hair that had been on the top of his head was singed, and there was a nasty burn along the side of his head. His hands were in restraints that would prevent him from ever putting both hands on a circle at the same time. Someone had thought ahead, and he’d been given the strongest set of restraints available. They looked to be made of a metal alloy, instead of the usual wood. The soldiers pushed him into the cell across from theirs and shut the door.

“Great,” Simon muttered. The cell had previously been empty. The toilets in the cells afforded no privacy. With the cell across from them empty, Simon and Bald had simply had to look the other way when the other was using it. He supposed that from now on, he and Bald would have to take turns positioning themselves so as to block the view from the opposing cell.

“What’d you do the piss off the Flame Alchemist?” Bald jeered across the hall. “Or did you stick your head in a lamp?”

“The former,” the Strongarm Alchemist groaned. He shook himself, trying to see if he could dislodge the restraints or the bars of his cell. His attempts unsuccessful, he sat down on the floor of his cell, dejected. He squinted through the dim lighting at the occupants of the cell across the hall. “I’m Alex,” he said.

“Shouldn’t that be Major Ass Alex or something?” Bald asked.

Alex shook his head. “I’ve been stripped of my military rank. About two hours ago. My State Alchemist title should be gone in a few days; they just need to finish the paperwork.”

“So what’d you do?” Simon asked. “My crime was Being Ishvalan, but you’re from a nice, rich Amestrian family.”

Alex scooted closer to the cell bars to peer at Simon’s face. “You have twin boys? And another you adopted?”

“Why the Hell you asking?” Simon replied, doing everything he could to keep the quiver out of his voice. He’d heard of the Strongarm Alchemist, both in whispered rumors and in the nightmares Dror had periodically.

“Elior and Ilan look like you,” Alex said. “Don’t worry. Scar’s taking care of them. Dror too, of course. They’re doing as well as they can.”

“What were you doing in Ishval?” Bald asked.

Alex’s face lit up. “My sister is pregnant!”

“Strongine?” Simon asked. “Or Amue?”

“Yup!”

“Both?”

“No, just Strongine.”

Bald look at Simon in confusion, and Simon gave a little smile. He jerked his finger at the opposing cell. “His sister Strongine married Scar. His other sister Amue is dating Major Miles.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Simon said. “I was at the wedding. Half of Ishval must have been. _He_ wasn’t.” He jerked his thumb in Alex’s direction again. “He wasn’t invited. But we were all so happy for Scar.”

“I wish I’d had a chance to meet him,” Bald said. “Stories of his attacks gave me strength when I first got sent here. I was happy to hear that someone else was fighting the good fight.”

“Yeah,” Simon said. He addressed Alex again. “So, well, what happened? How’d you end up here?”

Alex looked down. “Mustang’s sending a spy to Ishval. I tried to stop him, but he was ready for me.”

“So where’s the spy now?” Simon asked.

“In Ishval, I imagine,” Alex said gloomily.

\---

Scar started to suspect that something was amiss when he arrived home with the boys to find that Marcoh wasn’t there. The household waited half an hour in growing uneasy.

“I’ll go check the clinic,” Scar said. “Maybe he got lost in his work.”

“I’ll get dinner started,” Arieh said. He gathered up the groceries that Burn had purchased and began pulling out the appropriate pots and pans.

It was not a far walk to the Free Clinic. The front door was unlocked. “Marcoh?” Scar called as he entered.

“Back here,” Marcoh called weakly from the depths of the Free Clinic.

“Are you hurt?” Scar asked.

“Yes,” Marcoh said.

Scar arrived then, and his eyes took in the sight. There was a deep, narrow hole in one part of the floor, with a small transmutation circle drawn next to it. Nearby, alchemy had ripped the floor up into a sharp narrow spire, which had pinned a man Scar did not know to the ceiling. The man was dead. The spire had gone through his throat. There was a trail of blood next to the transmutation circle, and when Scar’s eyes followed it across the floor and past a dropped gun, Scar found Marcoh. He had removed his shirt and was pressing it to his midsection with one hand. The shirt was stained red with his blood. In Marcoh’s other hand was a piece of chalk, and as Scar went to him, he saw that Marcoh had drawn a circle about himself. Scar’s eyes widened as he took in the markings that Marcoh had drawn. He was now sitting in the center of a human transmutation circle.

“What are you doing?” Scar asked. “What happened?”

Marcoh pointed the chalk weakly at the dead man on the ceiling. “Norman Glass. He wanted information. I went for my chalk. He shot me. A few times, actually. I did, well, that.”

“And this?” Scar asked angrily, pointing at the circle that now surrounded Marcoh.

Marcoh’s eyes followed his gaze and then look back up at Scar. He smiled weakly. “Yes, that. I’m dying, Scar.”

“You’re in a hospital!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I can stitch you up,” Scar protested. “Tell me where you keep your thread and needle. It can’t be that bad!”

“I’m sorry,” Marcoh said. “I examined the wound. Even if we stop the bleeding, I no longer have a functioning liver. The bullets tore it up too badly. I’ll be dead in two days.”

“No,” Scar whispered.

“Look,” Marcoh said. He shifted position and gave a gasp of pain. “Either I bleed out in the night or I die of acute liver failure in the near future or I do this.” He pointed at the circle.

“No,” Scar said. “That’s a human transmutation circle. That makes a Philosopher’s Stone.”

“I know,” Marcoh said. “I’m not dead yet. My soul’s still here, and that means it could power a Stone. Wouldn’t be a very powerful Stone, but it would be better than nothing. That’s why I haven’t done it yet.” He smiled at Scar. “I was hoping that it would be you that came. Otherwise I was going to have to have you sent for.”

“You can’t-”

“Can’t what?” Marcoh asked bitterly. “Do to myself what I did to countless others? What I did to Arieh’s family? Damn it, Scar, we know where things are headed. Ishval needs every resource possible at its disposal. What happens if it’s Arieh that gets it in the liver next time, huh? If I become a Philosopher’s Stone, you’ll have a way to heal him. Or anyone else who gets hurt.”

“_I’ll_ have a way to heal him?”

Marcoh nodded. “I want to know that I’ll be in good hands when I’m a Stone. I trust you to use me right. Please, Scar. I’ve had time to think. This is what I want.”

Scar stepped forward into the circle. “Marcoh-”

“Please don’t be stubborn,” Marcoh protested weakly. “I can’t activate the transmutation if you’re within the boundary.”

Scar smiled sadly at him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand.” He bent down, brushed Marcoh’s hair away, and kissed him on the forehead. “May Ishvala deal gently with you, when you finally arrive before him,” Scar whispered. He stepped backwards out of the circle, careful not to smudge any of the markings.

“Good-bye, Scar,” Marcoh said, and the tears spilled out of his eyes.

“Good-bye, Dr. Marcoh,” Scar said. “Be not afraid.”

Marcoh looked his circle over to make sure that everything was right. Then he double checked that Scar was clear. Finally, he pressed both hands to the circle. There was a flash of light and a scream of anguish that could be heard over the cackle of alchemy at work. Then it was over, and in the circle was a small stone and Marcoh’s lifeless body.

Scar picked up the Stone gingerly. He considered what to do with it. He needed to put it someplace safe. His gaze fell upon the ring on his hand, the one that he’d gotten from Major General Armstrong. Taking it off, he held the ring and the Stone in the palms of his hands. Working alchemy on the ring, he changed it so that it now held the Stone like a jewel. He slipped the ring back on his finger. He turned his attention to the rest of the room. He needed to put the floor back right, transport the bodies to the morgue, and clean up the blood and chalk markings. Then he was going to have to tell everyone what happened.

\---

“I’ll cook from now on,” Arieh said after Scar delivered the news.

“Are you sure?” Burn asked. “Cooking for so many people is a big responsibility.”

Arieh stuck out his chin. “I can handle it.”

“My hands aren’t what they used to be,” Mistress Shan said, “but I can teach you the recipes that I know.”

\---

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Scar opened the door to his and Strongine’s bedroom. Dror was standing there in his pajamas. There were tears on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Scar asked.

“Had a bad dream,” Dror said.

“What was it about?” Scar asked.

“I dreamed you went away,” Dror said. “So I came upstairs to check.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Scar said. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Dror said, but he did not look convinced.

\---

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Captain Hawkeye speaking.”

“This is Major Miles. Please deliver a message to Mustang.”

“What is the message?”

“Dr. Tim Marcoh is dead.”

“What happened?”

“A man by the name of Norman Glass murdered him,” Miles said. “Glass is retired military. He was always a nasty piece of work. He took a swing at me back when.”

“Where is Glass now?”

“Dead. Marcoh got him before he died himself. If Mustang can arrange letters of transit, we can get his body back to his family.”

“I’ll pass the message on, sir.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

\---

“Burn, can I talk to you?”

“How can I help you, Major?”

“I heard you knew how to make tattoos,” Miles said.

“Yeah,” Burn said. “Did it as a side gig back in the day, back during Exile. Why? Is this for our secret army?”

“Right,” Miles said. “Scar mentioned he read you in on the plan. Dr. Marcoh was going to do the tattoos, but obviously that is no longer an option.”

“You can count on me,” Burn said. “What do you intend to do with the other soldiers?”

“The ones I can’t rely on? Order them out of Ishval, when we’re ready. Have them run in circles until then.”

“Run in circles?”

“A rogue agent came into Ishval and murder someone,” Miles explained. “Gave me an excuse to come down hard on them. Most of them are scrubbing toilets for the third time this morning at the moment.”

“Rogue agent?” Burn asked. “I thought he had letters of transit signed by Mustang.”

“He did,” Miles said, “but keep that on the down low. I can work better with him as a rogue agent.”

“I understand,” Burn said. He kicked a stone on the ground and tightened his grip on his groceries. “I never like Marcoh, but, damn it, he was one of ours. He lived under my roof. Mustang had no call to take him from us.”

\---

Strongine sat in the chair behind the counter in the shop, smiling winsomely at customers. The sun was shining, and it glistened off the jewels that were out for display. Merchants from Xing were buying regularly, and there was a low murmur throughout the market place as word began to spread. She tried to keep her eyes directly ahead. If she didn’t, she’d catch a glimpse of her arms, decorated with the tattoos that Marcoh had given her. Then she’d think of the empty place at the dinner table and her brother’s arrest and it would take everything she had not to break down in tears.

\---

“I brought the mat Dr. Marcoh slept on,” Scar said to the Supreme Cleric. “He would have wanted it donated.”

“We’ll find a family that needs it,” the Supreme Cleric assured him. “Where is he to be buried? Where’s he from?”

Scar looked to the side and scowled at the stone walls of the Holy Temple. “I don’t know. There was a town where he was living, but I never asked its name. I was thinking he could be buried here.” There was a new cemetery on the outskirts of the Settlement. It contained few bodies. The victims of the Extermination Campaign were buried deep beneath ruins and sand – or in an unmarked mass grave made by the Amestrian military. The survivors had had no choice but to start anew, and the cemetery had been divvied up to accommodate the future burials for the surviving families.

“There’s not a Marcoh section,” the Supreme Cleric remarked.

Scar nodded his head. “There isn’t. We can put him in the Cohen section.”

“Okay,” the Supreme Cleric said. “I’ll make preparations.”

\---

“How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?” Dr. Abrams asked.

“Maybe a month?” Amue replied. “Maybe a little longer. I’m not really sure. I wasn’t counting.”

“And it’s just been the nausea?” Dr. Abrams asked.

“Right,” Amue said. She waited for Dr. Abrams to ask more, but Dr. Abrams was staring off into blank space. “Doctor?” Amue prompted.

“What? Oh, sorry, dear,” Dr. Abrams said. “It’s just…”

The sentence wasn’t complete, but it was enough. Amue understood. “It must be hard, running the clinic without Dr. Marcoh.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Dr. Abrams said. “God, I can remember how we first met.”

“When was that?”

“Back when Marcoh was traveling about with Scar. That was back before the Promised Day. They came to our little community. It was the dead of winter, and we were having a bad measles outbreak with the little ones. I didn’t know who Marcoh was – didn’t know that until later, when I was setting this clinic up and he said he wanted to help – but I figured I could trust him, if he was with Scar. It was a long few days, but we saved a lot more lives together than I would have alone.” Dr. Abrams sniffed and wiped away a tear. “Anyway, try ginger tea for the nausea, and let me know if the symptoms persist.”

\---

“How are you holding up?” Miles asked Scar. The funeral was not an overwhelmingly large affair. Dr. Abrams, the other doctors at the Free Clinic, some of Marcoh’s prior patients, Miles, Amue, the Supreme Cleric, and Scar and his household were in attendance.

“I am okay,” Scar said.

“Complicated feelings, I’m guessing?” Miles asked.

Scar nodded. “I almost killed him the first time we met. I wanted to. His face – I didn’t just do that to disguise him. But-” Scar didn’t finish the sentence.

“He adored you?”

Scar smiled. “He loved everyone. He never hid—I don’t think he could have hid how much he loved everyone here. Helping people was what made him happy.” He absentmindedly rubbed the Philosopher’s Stone in his ring.

Miles pointed at it. “I guess he’s attending his own funeral, huh?”

Scar laughed weakly. He started to feel guilty for laughing at a funeral, but then he remembered how happy it made Marcoh to hear Scar laugh. The tears rolled unbidden out of Scar’s eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Miles said. “I’m here for you.” He pulled Scar into a hug and held him tight.

“Thank you, Miles.”

\---

“How are you holding up?” Burn asked Amue.

“I didn’t know him as well as the others,” Amue said, “but I wanted to be here for my sister.”

“Are you worried about your brother?” Burn asked.

“Yes,” Amue admitted. “I know what he did-”

“He’s still your brother,” Burn said. “Don’t feel guilty about caring about him.”

“He was trying to help,” Amue started before she became too choked up to talk. Burn pulled her into a comforting hug.

“Shh…” he whispered. “It’ll be okay.”

“You’re a good man,” Amue said.

“And I think I love you,” Burn said. Amue squirmed, and he let go. She stepped back and looked him in the eyes.

“Oh, Burn, we can’t!”

Burn smiled sadly at her. “I know. Miles is a good man, too. He’ll be a good husband for you. I’ll be happy that you’re happy.”

“Thank you, Burn.”

\---

“We return his body to the ground from which Ishvala created it,” the Supreme Cleric intoned, “but his soul lives on eternally. Peace be on him and upon us all.”


	14. Chapter 14

At a secluded café in Central City, Olivier Mira Armstrong was having lunch with Izumi Curtis and Gracia Hughes. It was Izumi and Gracia’s first time meeting.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Gracia said after they sat down. She shook Izumi’s hand.

“Not one for a firm handshake, are you?” Izumi asked with a broad grin.

Gracia blushed in embarrassment. “I’m afraid not. I’m not like the Major General here.”

“I could teach you,” Izumi offered.

“Oh, you don’t need to-”

“You should take her up on her offer,” Olivier said. “Izumi taught even me a few things.”

“Oh my,” Gracia said. “I suppose I should then.”

Izumi frowned. She was looking past the other two women. Olivier turned to see what had caught her attention. There was a man there in a brown overcoat. His wide brimmed hat was pulled down, which made him difficult to identify.

“He’s been watching,” Izumi mouthed.

Olivier shoved her chair back and strode over to the man, her hand on her sword hilt. “Hey, you!” she demanded. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” the man said, shoving his hands in his pocket, “Just taking a walk.”

“Then keep walking!”

\---

Simon and Bald found Alex in the exercise yard the next day. It was a barren yard of chalk, sand and scruffy weeds. No exercise equipment or tools were provided, so Alex was lifting one of the other prisoners over his head. This was not easy to do, as Alex’s hands were still bound with the alchemy-preventing restraints, but he was managing surprisingly well.

“Alchemist,” Bald said. “We want to talk to you.”

“Sure!” Alex said. He set the prisoner down and then followed Simon and Bald over to an empty corner.

“You could escape, couldn’t you?” Simon asked. “Using alchemy?”

Alex wordlessly held up his hands to show the restraints.

“But you could teach Simon, couldn’t you?” Bald asked. “It’s just knowledge, isn’t it?”

“I could,” Alex said. “Do you want to go see your sons?”

Simon shook his head. “I mean, I do, obviously, but if I break out now, well, I worry what the Flame Alchemist would do in retaliation.”

“We wanted to know it’s an option,” Bald said.

“I understand,” Alex said. “But it’s more than just knowledge. You need practice, too.”

“Can’t practice escaping,” Bald said.

Alex smiled. With his bound hands, he pointed at the weeds. “Carbon,” he said. He pointed at the chalk. “Calcium carbonate.”

“Meaning…?” prompted Bald.

Finding a sandy portion, Alex began drawing equations on the ground with his finger.

\---

The Warden of Cell Block G came into the exercise yard to bring the prisoners in. To his surprise – and mild concern – there wasn’t a single fight in progress. Nor was there any noise. All the prisoners but one were sitting on the ground. Each of them held a small wooden board and a piece of chalk. They appeared to be sketching. The Warden’s eyes traced the yard, and he located the final prisoner. Alex Louis Armstrong, nude except for his alchemy-preventing restraints, was laying on his side in the dirt. He was keeping very still and gazing intently into a stone hand-held mirror. The Warden realized with a start that all of the weeds in the exercise yard were simply gone.

“What is going on here?” he asked. Usually, he roared his questions, but the situation was bizarre enough to make him speak in normal tones.

It was Bald who answered. “Art class. The theme is ‘vanity’.”

“Where did you get the boards and chalk?” the Warden demanded.

Bald shrugged. “I thought you provided them,” he answered innocently. Other prisoners around him nodded their assent, although most were focused on finishing their chalk sketch of Alex Armstrong.

“Well, it’s time to go in,” the Warden said. “And Armstrong needs to put some damn clothes on!”

\---

Major Miles looked up from his paperwork when there a came a knock on his door. He bid them to entered, and Batel Mittelman was escorted in by Sergeant Major Richard Everhart. She handed Miles a note.

“You’re dismissed,” Miles said to Everhart.

“Sir,” Everhart said, “It’s not safe to leave you alone with a potential threat. I should stay for your own safety.”

“I think I can handle her,” Miles said dryly.

“But sir-“

“You’re dismissed.”

“What’s the note say?” Everhart demanded.

“It says to go scrub toilets for insubordination,” Miles said. “Now for the third time, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Everhart conceded, glowering.

“What’s this?” Miles asked after Everhart was gone. He waved the note.

“Came in from Central with the receipts,” Mittelman said. Mittleman’s flower shop had a Central location. Major General Armstrong had provided her with the appropriate letters of transit without Miles’ involvement.

Miles read the letter.

_ Major Miles,_

_ How is Major General Armstrong getting along with her father, these days? I’d ask her myself, but I don’t have her number. You should give her a call. Family disputes can be real trouble._

_ By the way, I’ve moved. The new address is on the back. You can just have someone drop the letter off in the flower pot outside. I’ll get it. For myself, I’ll continue sending my letters in the usual way, if I’m not able to call. _

_ Your Friend,_

The letter was not signed. Miles flipped it over and saw the address. If intercepted, the letter wouldn’t be especially suspicious, but he realized that it came from his mystery caller, and they wanted to set up a dead drop location. Things must be heating up in Central.

“Would you be able to deliver a reply, if I wrote it at some point?” Miles asked.

“Of course,” Mittelman said. “And could you give Lady Olivier a call? I tried to reach her, but I wasn’t able to get through to Briggs.”

“I will,” Miles promised. He escorted her out, and then true to his word, he tried calling as soon as he was back at his office, but he wasn’t able to get through. He wasn’t able to get through when he tried again later the same day, either. Nor could he get through the next day when he sought Karley’s help in placing the call through alternate channels. His calls simply weren’t being picked up.

\---

The circus returned to Ishval. Somehow, Strongine ended up taking Dror, Elior, and Ilan there. She feared the trip would be a disaster. It was a disaster. Since the last visit, the circus had obtained elephants, and these scared Dror, which made him cry. Then Elior licked Ilan’s cotton candy, which made Ilan cry. Then Ilan (still crying) shoved Elior, who dropped his own cotton candy, which made Elior cry.

“Need a hand?”

Strongine turned to see Yoki come up to them. He wasn’t wearing his clown costume.

“Thank you,” Strongine said gratefully as Yoki began pulling funny faces at the boys to stop their tears.

“Let’s go to the fun house!” Yoki shouted, and the crying stopped completely.

“You’re really good with children,” Strongine told him, as the boys darted ahead. She looked down at her midsection. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when the little one comes. The boys are enough of a handful as it is.”

“You’re pregnant?” Yoki asked.

Strongine nodded. “I’m about six months along.”

Yoki peered at her more closely. “You aren’t hardly showing!”

“It’s my build,” Strongine said.

“It’s a lovely build,” Yoki said and then had the decency to look embarrassed. “I probably shouldn’t say such things to a married woman.”

Strongine laughed. “I won’t tell Scar.”

“He’s a lucky man,” Yoki said.

“Jealous?” Strongine teased. A part of her wondered if that was something a married woman shouldn’t say.

“Of Mr. Scar?” Yoki asked. “Always!” He smiled at her. “But there’s no point on dwelling on impossibilities. It’s the circus life for me, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Actually, I love it,” Yoki admitted. “I wasn’t so sure when Darius and Heinkel dragged me into it, but it really is loads of fun.”

Strongine looked up. “The children aren’t supposed to climb the outside of the fun house, are they?”

Yoki looked up, as well. “Oh, dear.”

\---

Three anxious days after being unable to reach Major General Armstrong, Miles discovered why he had been unable to get through to Fort Briggs. The answer came via the radio. Miles hadn’t been listening until Scar came bursting into his office with Dror, Elior, and Ilan in tow.

“Turn it on,” Scar said. “I need to get to my class, but turn it on. Any station.”

When Miles turned it on, he heard two hosts having a conversation about news that they had clearly just announced.

“Unprecedented charges,” the first cohost was saying.

“Have there been any charges?” the second cohost was saying.

Miles fiddled to the nob and went to another station.

“Major General Armstrong has not officially been arrested,” a man was saying.

“Well, even if the charges are true,” a woman said, “she hasn’t violated any law, has she?”

Miles switched stations again.

“I didn’t even know Amestris had a Witchfinder General!” a joking voice was saying. “Hey, if there are any witches in the audience, give us a call! We’d love to hear from you.”

Finally, Miles switched to the official broadcast out of Central.

“We have now a snippet of the radio recording of this morning’s testimony,” the announcer said. “Fair warning, what you are about to hear is not for the faint of heart, and it may be inappropriate for small children.”

“State your name,” an official sounding voice said as the announcer began playing the recording.

“Gracia Hughes.”

“How long have you known Major General Armstrong?”

“About a year and half,” Gracia answered shakily.

“Do you confess to being a female homosexual?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that-”

“Do you confess to having carnal knowledge of Major General Armstrong?”

“Yes,” Gracia answered, braking down into sobs. “I’ve been lonely since my husband’s death, and she’s been such a good role model for my daughter. We weren’t hurting anyone!”

“And here is from the recording of the testimony of Izumi Curtis,” the announcer said.

The same official sounding voice spoke again. “State your name.”

“Izumi Curtis.”

“How long have you known Major General Armstrong?”

“Since the Promised Day.” Izumi was much less shaky than Gracia had been.

“Do you confess to being a female homosexual?”

“So? What of it?” Izumi asked breezily.

“Excuse me?” the official sounding voice demanded. “You’re a married woman, if I recall.”

“And it’s only adultery if Sig objects,” Izumi replied smartly. “I know the law. Unless you can actually prove that Olivier engaged in witchcraft – ha! – then nothing we did was illegal.”

Miles listened a bit more and then stopped. He was hardly shocked by the “revelations”. Rumors had flown at Briggs about the Major General’s preferences. He enemies had been crafty, though. Amestrian law only forbid sexual relations between men – on the grounds that women “didn’t do that sort of thing” – but it still had old statues about witchcraft on the books. (Miles had had an occult phase when he was in his early teens and had read a great many books on the subject.) Amestris hadn’t burned a witch in ages, of course, and he doubted they’d burn the Major General, but Seduction of Women was listed as one of the signs of a woman being a witch. So one of the Major General’s enemies had dug up an old statue to drag her name through the mud. It would hurt her politically even if nothing came of it.

\---

Three days later, as Burn was completing the daily grocery shopping at the market, he stumbled upon Amue Armstrong crying. She’d tucked herself out of the way in an alleyway flanked by two stalls and was sitting on upturned crate. Burn located another crate, dragged it over beside her, and sat down.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “No, wait, I can probably guess. This about your older sister?”

Amue nodded.

“Scar said that Miles said that she’s unlikely to face any charges,” Burn said, hoping to reassure her.

“I know,” Amue said, through hiccups of sobs. “And Olive’s never given a damn about her reputation. Not about what High Society thinks of her, anyway. That’s not it.”

“Then what’s the matter?” Burn asked gently.

“Olive was discrete,” Amue said.

“So you’re wondering who ratted her out?” Burn asked.

“No,” Amue wailed, “I already know!”

“Who-?”

“Daddy!” Amue blurted out. “Daddy was the one who told. He’d promised that he wouldn’t, but he didn’t approve of Scar marrying Strongine or me dating Miles, so he ratted his own daughter out!” 


	15. Chapter 15

The students were taking a test. Scar was attempting to write a letter. He had put it off for longer than he had intended to, long enough for events in Ishval to settle down back to something like normal and for Burn to have secretly tattooed most of the alchemist-soldiers (who now took care to always long sleeves to avoid exposure), but he had to write it eventually. The paper for the letter was smoothed out on his desk. The quill was in his hand. The jar of ink stood by, ready for use. He had written this much so far:

_May, _

Scar tapped the quill up and down on the paper and then scowled at the ink stain he’d made. The problem was that he didn’t want to make May sad, but he couldn’t write to her with only good news because there was not only good news to be had.

He looked up at his class. They were still taking their test, except for Elior, who sat behind Dror and was in the process of setting a desert lizard on Dror’s head. When Elior saw Scar’s eyes on him, he quickly handed the lizard to Ilan, who stuffed it down the front of his shirt. Elior and Ilan both smiled angelically at Scar. He pointed at them warningly with his pen. When he pulled his arm back, his elbow knocked his ink jar, which spilled all over his desk and the letter he had been failing to write.

Scar glared at the whole mess. Coming to a decision, he put his hands on the desk. There was the crackle of lightning. The ink that he did not need went back in the jar. The rest went on the paper and formed the following words:

_May,_

_ Marcoh is dead. Amestris killed him. I fear for my children and the child Strongine carries if Ishval does not act. We desire independence, but we are weak. Can you persuade your brother the emperor to aide us?_

_ Yours,_

_ Scar_

\---

In the prison in Central, Simon had devoted himself to the study of alchemy, and Alex had taken the task of teaching him as seriously as he did the care and development of his muscles. Bald assisted by keeping watch, to make sure that the lessons were not overheard. The lessons were more difficult than Simon had realized. While he’d been a good enough student as a lad, Alex had no books to teach with. Simon had to learn entirely through verbal instruction and discrete practice. At the moment, they were in their cells across from each other, and Alex was giving Simon a pop quiz.

“Salt,” Alex called from his cell.

“NaCl,” Simon answered promptly.

“Which is…?”

“Sodium and Chlorine.”

“Chloride,” Alex corrected. “Chlorine occurs naturally. Chloride is an ion. That means…?”

“An atoms that’s lost or gained, um...the part that makes it negative?”

“Mostly right,” Alex said. “It’s called an electron.”

“Electron, got it,” Simon said.

“Water,” Alex called.

“H2O,” Simon answered. “Hydrogen dioxide.”

“How can you make an explosion with salt water?” Alex asked. “Or with a cup of water and a salt shaker?”

“What are the cup of water and the salt shaker made out of?” Simon asked.

“Don’t get smart with your teacher!” Alex bellowed. “The cup and the salt shaker are hypothetical.”

“Fine,” Simon said. “Sodium and chloride both react violently with water. Break the molecular bonds of the salt and move them far enough from each other that it’s the water they interact with.”

“Warden’s coming,” Bald called, and Alex and Simon both went silent.

The warden wasn’t alone. He had a prisoner with him, who he stuck in Alex’s cell.

“Sig?” Alex asked.

“You know him?” Bald asked.

“This is Sig Curtis,” Alex explained. “We fought together on the Promised Day.”

“Hello,” Sig said shyly.

“So what are you in for?” Bald asked, “Seeing as you’re a hero of the Promised Day and all.”

“Punched a soldier,” Sig said softly.

“Not bad,” Bald admitted.

“He insulted my wife,” Sig continued. He looked sheepish. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.” Sig looked from Alex to the inhabitants in the cell across the hall. “I guess you don’t get much news in here.”

“We don’t,” Simon agreed. “What happening on the outside?”

“Major General Armstrong’s getting some heat,” Sig revealed. “It came out that she was sleeping with my wife.”

Bald stared at Sig before speaking slowly. “You mean that his sister-” he jerked his thumb at Alex “-has been banging your wife?”

Sig nodded. Alex, for his part, felt something inside of him drop. He didn’t want another Laurence situation. If Olivier and Izumi were involved, Alex decided, that meant that Sig was off limits.

“You seem less upset than I’d expect,” Bald said. “Not that I’ve ever had a wife, but if I did, I think I’d be at least a trifle annoyed.”

“Uh huh,” said Simon.

“Oh, well,” Sig said, “it’s the way my precious honeybee and I do things. It’s not like she didn’t talk to me about it first. And the Major General’s a good woman.”

“Well,” Alex said, “welcome to our prison group. I’m teaching Simon alchemy so that we can stage a breakout when the time is right.”

Bald groaned and then sighed. “I guess he would have noticed pretty quick.”

Sig had barely got settled in when a guard came and summoned Alex, informing him that he had a visitor. The visitor area was in a different part of the prison. The prisoners and their visitors were separate by barred windows. Alex took his seat. The old woman sitting across from him was Batel Mittelman.

“Auntie!” Alex boomed. Then he made an actual effort to lower his voice to a whisper. “Tell Miles that there’s a spy-”

“We know,” Mittelman said. “He got Dr. Marcoh, and Marcoh got him.”

“My goodness!”

“You did a brave thing,” Mittelman said.

It took a moment for Alex was able to compose himself enough to be able to speak, and there were still tears lingering in his eyes when he did so. “Please pass a message onto Dror, Elior, and Ilan. Tell then that I’m across the hall from their daddy. Tell them I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“I will,” Mittelman promised.

Alex made an effort to whisper again. “We could get out, but we don’t want backlash to fall on Ishval.”

“I’ll let the Major know,” Mittelman said.

\---

Scar waited anxiously every day for May’s reply to come, to the point that the mail carrier gently reminded him that glaring eastward would not make the letters arrive any quicker. Scar knew that letters to the royal family Xing faced extra scrutiny, even if Scar’s letters were assured to get to her in time. Sure enough, the mail carrier arrived one day and presented Scar with a letter from Xing.

_ Scar,_

_ I spoke with my esteemed brother, Emperor Ling, May He Live Forever (and he just might, the jerk). He said that he can’t risk Xing’s future on, I quote, “the whims of a single princess”. I’m coming to Ishval. There is much you must catch me up on. _

_ Warmest regards,_

_ May_

Scar scowled when he received the letter. It was stained with tears. Despite the words she had written, he could tell that he had made May sad, after all. Scar had worked hard to master his anger, to not let it rule him. May had never had that problem. She loved so fully, and her heart was ever so tender as a result.

He folded up the letter and put it away with his things. He spent the rest of the day wondering what would happen next. He read the letter three more times again right before bed. By time he turned in for the night, Strongine was already half-asleep when he arrived. He slipped under the covers next to her.

“May I lay my head against your belly?” Scar asked.

“Go ahead,” Strongine said.

Scar did so. He didn’t put his full weight down on her, of course. He raised his left hand, and when Strongine nodded, he gently pressed it against her midsection.

“No action tonight,” Strongine said. “I mean, the baby’s quiet.”

Scar nodded. His eyes closed, he slid his head off of Strongine, and he fell asleep, his hand still resting on her. Strongine wished he had told her what was bothering him.

\---

Miles did not write back to his mystery informant right away, but eventually he found cause to do so, arranging for Mittelman to take the letter. It read:

_ Friend, _

_ I hope that this letter finds you in good health. I don’t recall; did I ever introduce you to my good friend up North? She’s quite a woman. There have been some nasty rumors spread about her, but I would trust her with anything. _

_M._

After finishing the letter and sending it off, he met Amue for dinner. It was one of the nicest restaurants in the Settlement. Miles was the only person of Ishvalan descent not wearing the clothes of a waiter. He was not, however, the only person of Xingese descent dining; the diners were about evenly split between Amestrian and Xingese. The restaurant was popular among merchants and served an Amestrian-Xingese fusion menu.

They were having lobster. It was hard to get lobster in Amestris and doubly hard to find it in the Settlement. It had to be brought in from abroad and transported live to its destination where it could be cooked and served. Miles’ brow wrinkled when he saw that Amue had barely touched her dish.

“Is something wrong, my love?”

Amue smiled at him. “Nothing. Just feeling a bit uneasy, is all.”

Miles thought of Strongine and Scar’s reports of her pregnancy-related symptoms. “Well, at least you know you’re not pregnant,” he joked weakly. He and Amue hadn’t properly talked about the night when they’d almost but ultimately didn’t consummate their relationship. They’d simply continued on, as if it had never happened. Nevertheless, Amue hadn’t invited Miles up to her hotel room a second time, and Miles hadn’t made any advances himself. With these thoughts, Miles came to a decision.

“Well, maybe after dinner, I could sneak you into the barracks and help you feel better?” Miles suggested, sticking out his tongue suggestively and then grinning mischievously.

He frowned once more when he saw Amue’s reaction. She was staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Her mouth was agape, and her fork was halfway to her mouth, completely still.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Miles asked.

“Nothing,” Amue said. “It’s nothing. I’m just not feeling well.” She smiled at him, and Miles had forced enough smiles in his life to recognize a fake one. “Can I take a rain check?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Miles said, his heart sinking.

\---

After leaving the restaurant, Amue did not return to her hotel room. Instead, she went to the apartment where Strongine lived. Amue banged on the door. Burn opened it. Behind him, Amue was just able to see that the household was sitting down for dinner themselves. Scar had made the table bigger from the looks of things, and there was now a bench for the boys to sit on.

“Miss Amue, what is it?” Burn asked.

“Not…” Amue sputtered. “Strongine, can I borrow you?”

“This sounds important,” Strongine said. Standing up from her place at the table, she kissed her husband on the cheek and then followed Amue out of the apartment.

“Not…here,” Amue managed.

“Then where are we going?” Strongine asked.

“My place.”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Strongine said.

“Please, Strongine!”

“Okay,” Strongine relented. “I can tell it’s important.”

They didn’t say anything more until they arrived at Amue’s hotel room and then not until they were both inside and Amue had shut and locked the door.

“So what’s up?” Strongine asked.

“It’s not Miles’ fault,” Amue blurted out.

“What isn’t Miles’ fault?”

Amue looked absolutely wretched. “I made a mistake.”

“Please, Sister, tell me what is going on.”

“Oh, Strongine, I think I’m pregnant!”’ 


	16. Chapter 16

The prisoners of Cell Block G showered in shifts. Usually, Bald and Simon were part of one shift, while Alex and Sig were part of another shift. One evening, however, the guards came to their cells and said, “Armstrong! Segal! You two are up for showers. You know the drill. To the doors, backs to us. You other two, stand back.”

Bald did not do as instructed. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why have the shower rotations been changed?”

“Shut up,” snapped the guard.

Bald ignored him. “Why have the shower rotations changed?” he demanded again.

The guard responded by swinging his baton at the bars of the cell where Bald was at. Bald jumped back just in time, but by time he had recovered, the guards had already pulled Simon out of the cell. Across the hall, Alex – hands still in his alchemy-preventing restraints – was pulled out, as well. They ended up next to each other in the line to the showers.

“Fudge,” Simon said softly. (With three young boys, he was in the firm habit of Not Swearing, and prison hadn’t changed that.)

“What’s the matter?” Alex boomed.

“No talking!” one of the guards ordered. He hit Alex with his baton, as well, but Alex didn’t appear to notice.

“It’s ‘cause I’m Ishvalan,” Simon explained softly. “Everyone gets their kicks pointing and laughing.” Simon nodded down pointedly in explanation. The prison showers did not have doors. “Bald uses his body to shield me from view. Then I, you know, help him reach the places he has trouble with and let him know about anything in his blind spot.”

The guard closest to them overheard. “Let’s see how tough you are without your one-armed, one-eyed boyfriend,” he sneered at Simon.

They had reached the showers then. “Clothes off!” barked another guard. There were numbered cubby holes along the wall for them to put their clothes in while they showered. With the restraints, it was slightly more difficult for Alex to get his off, but he had more experience than most disrobing, so he was still undressed faster than Simon. (Due to his restraints, Alex’s prison shirt was modified to open along the seams. It sealed with clasps.)

“I’ll stand here,” Alex said. Turning his back to Simon, he shielded Simon from view. Once Simon had disrobed, he followed Alex to one of the showers. Alex stood in the open door of the shower while Simon cleaned himself. Then he walked Simon back over to the cubby hole, where Simon got redressed. Then Alex dashed back to the showers to take his own.

“Everyone back to the cells!” one of the guards barked just as Alex was stepping out of his shower.

Simon grabbed Alex’s clothes out of the cubbyhole and met him in the line. He handed them to Alex.

“Thanks,” Alex said. “I’ll dress in my cell.”

“I’m amazed you were able to get clean with those restraints on,” Simon said.

“Speedy bathing has been passed down in the Armstrong family for generations!” Alex boasted. The guard nearest to him hit him again – once more to no avail.

“They’ll probably switch us back to our usual rotation, since you helped me,” Simon said. “Thank you for that.”

“It was my pleasure,” Alex said. “Er…there’s something I wanted to ask.”

“What is it?”

“You mentioned about being Ishvalan…” Alex started. He nodded downward.

“Oh, right,” Simon said. “You might not know. Ishvalan men get circumcised as babies.”

Alex nodded. Scar had alluded to such. “And circumcision means…?”

As they continued their walk to their cells, Simon explained how circumcision worked.

“Oh,” Alex said, when he had finished.

“What?”

“It’s just not what I was envisioning,” Alex explained.

Simon looked at him curiously. “What were you envisioning?”

Alex hesitated. “I’d rather not say.” He was realizing that his vivid imagination had betrayed certain unconscious biases about how different Ishvalan men might be.

“Come on,” Simon cajoled. Alex relented.

“Well, you know,” Alex said. “Tentacles.”

Simon abruptly stopped walking, so that the guard nearest to him shoved him to get him going again. Even after he restarted his walk, he continued to stare at Alex with a mouth-agape expression. Then he started to laugh. It was the deep, full-body laugh of someone who hasn’t had much to laugh about. He laughed and laughed and was still laughing when they reached their respective cells. In fact, there were a few tears left in his eyes when Bald and Sig finished their own showers. Bald was apparently also slow finishing his shower and so returned to the cell holding his clothes rather than wearing them.

“Everything was okay, I’m guessing?” Bald asked, as Simon helped him get dressed.

“Yes,” Simon said. “Alex gave me some privacy.”

Bald looked at Alex in surprise. “I guess I owe you a thanks, then.”

Alex half-smiled at him in return. Bald was an undeniably attractive man, and his muscles were very much to Alex’s tastes, but Alex remembered what the guard had said on the way to the showers. He supposed it should have been obvious anyway, even if he’d never caught Bald and Simon being intimate with each other. (In prison, one probably learned to be discrete, Alex reasoned.) Alex sighed. Not only was Sig off limits, Bald was, as well.

\---

In Ishval, Strongine struggled to respond to Amue’s revelation.

“What do you mean, ‘I’m pregnant’?”

“I mean, I have a child forming in my uterus,” Amue said.

“And Miles isn’t the father?”

Amue shook her head.

“Then who is?”

“You have to promise not to tell. Not even him.”

“Wait, he doesn’t know?”

“He doesn’t.”

“Who is it, Amue?”

“Burn.”

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“Did he…?”

“No. No. Oh, God. It was after Miles and I had that bad date. I was just so hurt and so frustrated, that when Burn approached me…”

“Well, this is a fine mess you’ve made for yourself, Sister.”

“I know. I don’t know what to do!”

“Come clean.”

“Miles is going to hate me.”

“He’s to know in nine months’ time, anyway.”

“Closer to two months, actually.”

“More the reason to get everything sorted out, now.”

“Okay, but remember. You promised not to tell.”

\---

Strongine tried to keep her promise. She really did. And in a technical sense, she succeeded. She went three whole days without saying a word to Burn. This included words like “good morning” and “please pass the salt”. Eventually, Burn asked if he could speak with Strongine privately.

“I’ll make this brief,” Burn said. “There are many who would disprove of a man being alone with an unmarried woman.”

“I’ll bet,” Strongine said knowingly.

“Why have you been so cold to me?” Burn asked bluntly.

“I haven’t been cold to you,” Strongine said coldly.

“Look, just tell me what’s going on. Have I done something to offend you or-?”

“Talk to Amue.”

“What?”

“You should talk to Amue,” Strongine said.

“Why?” Burn asked guiltily.

“You just should,” Strongine said primly.

“Oh, God, she told you, didn’t she?”

“More than you know,” Strongine retorted.

“More than I know?” Burn repeated slowly. Realization dawn on him as his the temperature of his blood plummeted. “Oh, God. Oh, sweet Ishvala.”

“Talk to Amue,” Strongine said firmly. Turning on her heel, she left the conversation.

\---

The day after Strongine broke her silence to Burn, Miles awoke from a pleasant dream to find Major General Armstrong standing over him.

“Good morning, sir,” he said blearily.

Major General Armstrong was examining the pictures of Buccaneer that Miles had on his wall. As Miles’ bed – with Miles on it – was between her and the pictures, she was leaning over Miles to do so. He really wished she wouldn’t, and he was dismayed by the reaction that this produced in him. Major General Armstrong glimpsed down at him.

“Dreaming about my sister, are we?” she smirked. Miles hadn’t been. The dream had been about Buccaneer at first, until it had shifted in the way dreams do to be about Scar, except that Major General Armstrong had also been there.

“She’s very beautiful,” Miles said, which was true. He knew a lot of other men wouldn’t have agreed, but Miles _liked_ muscles and a strong jawline. That didn’t change just because those features were on a woman instead of a man.

“Go piss,” Major General Armstrong said. “Then get dressed.”

Time at Briggs had trained Miles well, and he was soon ready. He followed Major General Armstrong out of the barracks, where Miles discovered that Scar was waiting for them.

“Don’t you have school?” Miles asked.

“Liam Roach is going to substitute,” Major General Armstrong said.

“May Ishvala have mercy on his soul,” Scar muttered. He indicated toward Major General Armstrong. “What about you? Who’s running Briggs?”

“The soldiers I trained,” Major General Armstrong answered briskly. “As for me, I’m on leave until they determine if I’m a bitch or not.”

“Don’t you mean ‘witch’?” Scar asked.

“Come on,” Major General Armstrong said. “We’ve got a walk ahead of us. Well, actually, we’ll be taking camels.”

There was a camel rental establishment just off from the market, and Major General Armstrong made arrangements there. Miles and Scar both noted that she paid to have the camels for a few hours. They weren’t going far.

It turned out that they were only going a little ways out of town. South of the Settlement was a ridge known as the Brow of Ishvala. Sand was kicked up by the feet of the camels, and they cleared the ridge, at which point Major General Armstrong signaled for them to halt. She needn’t have said anything.

“What the-?” Scar asked.

On the other side of the Brow of Ishvala were rows upon rows of tents. Moving in and out of the tents were people. They scurried about hurriedly, like rats between the pantry shelves.

Dismounting, Major General Armstrong led her camel to a small oasis that nestled in the shadow of the Brow. Scar and Miles followed, Scar’s head turned back to the tents the entire way. Miles stared resolutely ahead.

On the banks of the oasis, Major General Armstrong pulled out a small stack of papers. She nodded at Miles. “Our mysterious friend sent these to me. They didn’t think they could get them into Ishval on their own.” She passed half the stack to Scar and the other half to Miles. Scar examined the first one. It was an advertisement.

COME TO ISHVAL!

FERTILE LAND!

AFFORDABLE HOUSING!

ADVENTURE!

Scar squinted in the sun at the small text at the bottom. “Anthony Comanche,” he read. There was an address and phone number, as well.

“Comanche wants to attract Amestrians to Ishval,” Major General Armstrong said. “To the Settlement.”

Miles frowned. “We’ve hardly barred Amestrians from living in the Settlement. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be allowed.”

“Nor my lovely wife,” Scar said. He examined the next few papers. These were clipped together, and they appeared to be an apartment lease. Everything seemed standard until he saw the price. “Ten thousand cens a month!” he exclaimed. “That’s almost triple of what we pay now!”

“But cheaper than what it would cost to live in New Optain,” Major General Armstrong commented.

“People in New Optain don’t make 100 cens a day,” Scar growled.

“Live in Ishval; work in New Optain,” Miles read from one of the papers in his pile. Scar glanced at it and saw that it was another advertisement.

“With the rail line, commuting from the Settlement to New Optain would be possible,” Major General Armstrong remarked.

“Or they could work in the Settlement,” Miles said. “That is, if they’re Amestrian.” He read from another one of the papers. “Help wanted! Banking clerk. No experience necessary. 500 cens a day. Ishvalans need not apply.” He waved the paper. “Sinclair Kimblee’s looking to open a bank here, it looks like.” Miles flipped through to another advertisement. “Oh, but Kimblee has some jobs for Ishvalans.” He cleared his throat and read, “Help wanted. Domestic servant. No experience necessary. 50 cens a day.” He tossed the advertisement back on his pile in disgust.

A horrified realization was beginning to dawn on Scar. “Comanche won’t charge Amestrians 10,000 cens a month for rent and let Ishvalans rent for 3,500 cens a month.” The sale of jewelry had brought in additional money, and Scar had been using that to help the other Ishvalan families cover their rent, but it wouldn’t be enough for such an increase.

“No,” Major General Armstrong said grimly. “He wouldn’t.”

Scar and Miles looked at the rows upon rows of tents in the distance.

“Basil Cholmondeley owns this batch,” Major General Armstrong said. “I chatted up his brother Laurence. The tents will be 2,900 cens a month.”

“2,900 cens a month for a tent??” Scar swore.

“The survivors who have returned to Ishval have been struggling with debt enough as it is,” Miles said.

“Amestris has strict laws for those who can’t repay their debts,” Major General Armstrong said. “That bastard Mustang told a bunch of wealthy monsters that they owned your country, and they intend to wring it for every cens they can get out of it.”

“Our country,” Scar repeated. He, Miles, and Major General Armstrong exchanged glances.

\---

As soon as he was able, Burn found Amue. It was after work, when he went to the market place to purchase the ingredients that Arieh would prepare for dinner. Amue was at the jewelry shop, displaying a variety of necklaces to a Xingese traveler. Burn waited until after the man made his purchase and that waved to get her attention.

“Oh, Burn,” Amue said softly. “Hi.”

“Are you pregnant?” Burn asked.

“I’m going to strangle Strongine,” Amue said under her breath.

“She didn’t tell me,” Burn assured her. “At least, not directly. And she didn’t mean to. I figured out the rest. So…are you?”

“Yes,” Amue whispered.

“And is it…am I…?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re the only man I’ve been with since coming to Ishval,” Amue said firmly.

“Oh my God,” Burn said. “Oh, my dear, sweet Ishvala.”

“What are we going to do?” Amue asked.

“Liberation!” Dror’s voice shouted from the center of the marketplace. Burn’s head swiveled. There, in the center of the marketplace, by the fountain with the Statue of Scar, were Scar himself, Miles, Major General Armstrong, Dror, Elior, Ilan, and an Amestrian soldier with a haunted look about him. (Scar would explain to Burn later that the soldier was Liam Roach, and he had substituted Scar’s class for the day.) Dror was sitting on Scar’s shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Burn asked, going over to them.

“It’s like I said,” Dror shouted. “Ishval is to have a vote on independence! To the Temple, everyone!”


	17. Chapter 17

In Cell Block G in Central City, Simon and Bald conspired with Alex and Sig. The topic of discussion: what was to be done about the shower situation at the prison? The time: the wee hours of the morning, when every other soul was asleep.

“What are the pipes here?” Alex asked. “Do they use Polyvinyl chloride?”

Bald shook his head. “I’m not sure what that is, but the pipes are all made of brass.”

“That’d be copper and zinc, then,” Simon said.

“We don’t have a way to shut off the water flow,” Sig pointed out.

Bald shrugged. “It’s the showers. A little extra water won’t hurt. Plus, Simon can alchemy away any mess at the end.”

“Still,” Alex said, “If we don’t want our clothes to be wet, we should leave them here.” He began happily doffing his prison wear.

“He has a point,” Simon admitted. He stripped down to his undergarments.

“Okay,” Bald said. “Sig and I are on watch duty.”

Leaving the cell was easy. The steel bars were just an alloy of iron and carbon, after all.

\---

The Warden of Cell Block G knew that something was amiss as soon as the prisoners were escorted to breakfast the next morning. There was an energy in the air, like how it is before a thunderstorm breaks. The prisoners were whispering to each other, and there was a sense of excitement, but the Warden could not discern the substances of the rumors. He feared a riot.

The truth revealed itself when the first batch of prisoners were taken to the showers. The Warden was on hand. He’d been hovering around uselessly all day. Thus it was that he was at the front of the line when they arrived at the showers. The Warden pulled up short and gaped.

The shower and changing room had been completely redone. They now entered into a center area. Surrounding them – shooting out like spokes on a wheel – were hallways leading away. At the start of each hallway was a swinging door that afforded privacy. When the Warden looked past the first door, he discovered that there was a changing area with a cupboard and a towel. Past that – far enough away not to get water into the changing area – was the shower unit itself.

The Warden dashed out to the central area where the prisoners were still gathered. He found Alex Armstrong among the prisoners.

“You!” the Warden accused.

Alex held up his hands – still bound in alchemy-preventing restraints - and in an innocent voice asked, “Me, sir?”

The Warden struggled to remain cool. He didn’t like what was going on, but he needed to maintain control of the situation at hand.

“All right, gents,” he said. “We’ve remodeled the showers for you. I hope you appreciate this. Now get going. The clock is ticking.” He didn’t think they would buy his lie, but it should sow some confusion and mitigate the support for whatever prisoner was the one doing alchemy.

There were roars of cheers from the prisoners, as they broke up to bathe in private.

\---

After returning from their jaunt out beyond the Brow of Ishvala, Scar, Miles, and Major General Armstrong discussed their first step, both with each other and with the various other leaders of the community, and then put their plan into action.

“We’ll see you soon, Major General,” Scar said, as he and Miles went to go one way, while Major General Armstrong went to go the other. Major General Armstrong wrinkled her nose.

“What is it, sir?” Miles asked.

“Major General,” Major General Armstrong repeated. “Sir.” She shook her head. “Miles, we’re about to belong to two different countries. You two may address me by my first name.”

“In that case, you may call me by my first name,” Miles said. “Olivier,” he added.

Olivier tapped her foot but also smiled. “Okay, Miles.”

“I’d prefer if you still called me ‘Scar’,” Scar said. He took a deep breath. “But given what is ahead of us, I want you both to know my birth name. It’s Pele-”

“Pele?” Olivier echoed. Scar, however, was not finished.

“Joez,” he continued. “El-gibbor.” Here he paused to take a breath. “Abi-ad-sar-shalom.”

“You’re name is Pele-joez-el-gibbor-abi-ad-sar-shalom?” Miles asked.

“Immanuel Asher,” Scar finished. “And my family name is Cohen-Armstrong, of course.”

Olivier took a deep breath and tried the name out. “Pele-joez-el-gibbor-abi-ad-sar-shalom Immanuel Asher Cohen-Armstrong. That first bit means ‘Wonderful in counsel is God the mighty, the Everlasting Father, the Ruler of Peace’, doesn’t it?”

“That is correct,” Scar said. “But I have cast this name away. Please address me as Scar.”

“How-?” Miles asked.

“I was a difficult pregnancy,” Scar explained. “Mother wanted me to have a special name.”

“Well, good luck, Scar,” Olivier said. “You too, Miles.”

Scar and Miles parted ways shortly after that. Miles began sending messengers to summon the soldiers stationed in Ishval to the barracks, and Scar began sending messengers about the Settlement summoning the Ishvalan alchemy-soldiers to the Temple. Scar finished his task first. After explaining the situation, he popped over to the barracks to see how Miles was progressing. He found him in argument with Everhart.

“What do you mean, ‘Surprise weapon inspection’?” Everhart was demanding.

“It means, hand over your weapon, soldier,” Miles snapped. “Or I’ll have you written up for insubordination.”

“Brigadier General Mustang is going to hear about this,” Everhart warned.

“Your weapon, soldier.”

Begrudgingly, Everhart handed it over. Miles handed it to Scar. “Put this is in the back, will you? They need to be inspected.” Scar could feel Everhart’s glare on his back as he put the gun with the rest. In doing so, he noted where the external wall of the weapons room was. Then he went back out, bid both men farewell, and circled around the outside. There was a cart in a shed on the grounds. Using alchemy, Scar made a back door to the gun room. Then he used the cart to transport the guns to the Temple, where they were distributed to the alchemist-soldiers there. By time the sun marked the end of the school day, all of the guns had been collected and reallocated.

Miles and Scar met back up with Olivier. They swung by the school. There they found Roach encased up to his neck in stone. There was a hole of equivalent mass in one of the walls. The pen and inkwell had been used to draw a clown face on Roach, and the hair on the left side of his head had been cut away.

“Boys,” Scar said warningly. Elior immediately dropped the scissors he was holding. Ilan hastily returned the pen and inkwell to the desk. Dror dropped the chalk he was holding and began scuffing out the alchemy circle with his foot. Walking over to Roach, Scar freed him. To the boys, he said, “No treats for a month. Not even if we’re celebrating independence.”

The gloom that had descended on the boys lifted immediately.

“Independence!” Dror shouted. “Can I announce it? Has it been announced yet?”

Scar put Dror up on his shoulders and took Elior and Ilan by the hands. “We have to vote on it. You may announce the vote, but you still do not get any treats.”

“Ah, man,” Elior whined.

“Bad little boys who are cruel to their substitute teacher do not get treats,” Scar scolded.

“It won’t happen again,” Ilan promised. He turned to Roach. “We’re really sorry, Mr. Briggs Soldier.”

“That is good,” Scar said.

“Does that mean we get treats?” Ilan asked hopefully.

“No,” Scar said. “You get no treats for a month.”

“Why’d you have to go and apologize?” Elior muttered to his twin.

“It was good for Ilan to apologize,” Scar said. “Apologies are merited when wrong has been done, but one does not apologizes because one is hoping to escape consequences. One apologizes because one feels guilty about having harmed another.”

“I’m sorry, too, Mr. Roach,” Dror said from atop Scar’s shoulders, and Scar detected a note of actual guilt in his voice.

“Yeah, me, too,” Elior said, looking down. He didn’t sound as guilty, but there was at least a sense of regret in his words. The rest of the class apologized, as well. Scar waited until the rest of the children had gone home. Then he let Mistress Shan know what was about. She and Arieh joined the rest as they headed to the marketplace.

\---

An hour after Scar’s announcement, just about the whole of the population of the Settlement was crammed into the Temple. There were so many people that the crowd flowed into the side rooms. The street vendors were doing a roaring trade. The merchants from east and west were murmuring to each other.

Everhart succeeded into pushing his way through the crowd. “What’s all this about, Major?” he demanded.

“Ishval is to vote on independence,” Miles said. “Your fate will be determined by the vote.” Everhart started to say more, but Miles ignored him. He explained to everyone in the Temple what had been learned and called for a vote on independence. This was followed by a debate, which Mistress Shan took to moderating. The main argument against independence – that didn’t come from Everhart – was that an unhappy now was preferable to an uncertain future.

“What happens if the vote for independence fails?” was the first question.

“You-” Everhart started to say.

“Wait until you’re called,” Mistress Shan chastised him. “That question was to Major Miles.”

“Thank you,” Miles said. “If independence fails, then we as a community accept that vote and face the future together. I do not like where things are going, but all of us pushing for independence act in service of the community. If the majority wishes to stay a part of Amestris, we will respect that.”

“No-” Everhart tried to cut in again.

“You still haven’t been called on,” Mistress Shan told him. She called on someone else in the crowd.

“If independence passes, Amestris isn’t going to stand for it. Scar is amazing, but can he face the entire Amestrian army alone?”

“Just-”

“The question was to Scar,” Mistress Shan said sternly. “Scar?”

“I won’t be facing the Amestrian army alone. As some of you are aware, I’ve been training an army of alchemist-soldiers. Everyone who was involved in that, please raise your hands.” The hands of the alchemist-soldiers went up in the air, and there were murmurs of approval. Scar finished, “If we vote for independence, I will fight to defend Ishval to my dying breath, and I will fight if I am the last soldier standing.”

The debate continued. When prompted, Scar provided more details on the training that the new Ishvalan army had undergone, but internally he knew that he was asking everyone to believe in an untested fighting force. Eventually, after everyone else had gotten a word in, Mistress Shan finally called upon Everhart to let him say his piece. He was incandescent with rage by that point, and his words came out in a fiery stream.

“For those who don’t me, I’m Sergeant Major Richard Everhart. I was in Ishval during the Ishvalan War of Extermination, where I served under the command of the Flame Alchemist. The same Flame Alchemist, I might remind you, who runs this region. He’s going to hear about this act of- of treason!”

“We haven’t done anything,” came a protest from someone near Everhart.

“Just being here is treason!” Everhart screamed. “Brigadier General Roy Mustang is going to hear about this. Grumman is going to hear about this. And all of you – all of you! – are going to pay! And I will see to it personally that every member of this makeshift army – and their families – are SHOT! Then maybe the rest of you will learn. Your. Place.”

“How are we going to vote?” someone from the crowd asked as soon as Everhart was silent.

“By show of hands,” Miles said. “If you favor independence, raise your hand. If you don’t keep it down.”

All about the room, hands shot in the air. Some, like, the hand of Richard Everhart, stayed down, but the tally was clear. Independence had passed by a resounding measure.

Over the cheers, Everhart demanded, “What happens now then?”

“Soldiers stationed here from Amestris are to return to East Command,” Miles explained pleasantly. “Independent Ishval will not be occupied by a foreign army.”

“You bastard!” Everhart shouted. “You stole our guns.”

“Please pack your bags and purchase a train ticket,” Miles said. Everhart glanced uneasily at the crowd and left. Most of the other soldiers who’d managed to push their way in left with them, but a few – mostly those who’d come from Briggs – remained behind.

“Excuse me, sir?” said one of the remaining soldiers who was not from Briggs.

“Yes, soldier?”

“I’ve got a wife here,” he said. “And a kid.”

“We’re not splitting up families,” Scar said firmly.

“You’re welcome to stay,” Miles said, “but if you do, we’ll have to ask that you either resign your commission or swear allegiance to Ishval. Or you and your family are welcome to go to Amestris.”

“Or you could go to Xing until this sorted out,” a high pitch voice said from amidst the crowd.

“May!” Scar exclaimed.

“Mr. Scar!” May said, pushing her way near enough to be seen. Scar saw that she had Xiao May, a teenage boy Scar presumed to be Al, Jerso, and Zampano with her.

Scar addressed the indecisive soldier again. “If you wish to go to Xing, you’ll be welcome to return to Ishval after the fact, provided that we prevail.”

“It’s all the same, isn’t it?” the soldier said. He sighed and then saluted Miles. “Private Shepard, reporting for duty.”

Private Shepard stepped forward, and Scar recognized him as the soldier who’d come into the classroom before Simon Segal had been publically whipped. Scar stepped close to the man, who eyed him wearily.

“First rule of the Ishvalan Army,” Scar said quietly. “We do not point guns at civilians. We do not brings guns onto school grounds. We do not upset the little children.”

“Understood,” Private Shepard said swiftly.

Scar turned his attention back to May and her group. “Do you have a place to stay for tonight? Do you wish to stay with us?”

“But where is there room for all of them?” Strongine asked, easily shoving her way through the crowd.

“Why, we can put them in the apartments on either side!” Scar declared. “Ishval is ours now. The apartment building that I built is ours!”

A great cheer went up in the crowd at his words. After that was the matter the new government. The traditional government of Ishval had been handled by a Council of Elders, and when Scar proposed this again, it was verbally approved by the overwhelming majority of those present. Scar explained the specifics, and Olivier – who’d spent the day preparing blanks slips of paper to serve as ballots – passed them around. When all was said and done, Ishval had a new ruling body composed of twelve elders, all age sixty or older. The Supreme Cleric was a member, as was Mistress Shan, and the latter had been elected as the presiding member of the body. They began work drawing up a Constitution, and with that, Ishval was properly its own country again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that I no way planned for this chapter to be posted on Valentine's Day weekend. Things just happened that way.

In the exercise yard at Central City Prison, a fight had broken out. Cell Block F’s turn in the exercise yard had finished, and Cell Block G was on their way out. In the usual smooth working of things, the Cell Block F prisoners should have been gone by the time Cell Block G arrived. However, there was a fight in the exercise yard. The Warden of Cell Block F sent a guard to tell the Warden of Cell Block G to hold the prisoners until it got sorted out, but it was the messenger guard’s first day on the job, and he got lost.

By the time the prisoners of Cell Block G spilled out into the exercise yard, the fight had turned into a full on brawl. It was a ruckus after that, as the guards corralled and hit the prisoners. They weren’t very discriminating with their blows, so Bald pulled Simon close, to protect him from being hit.

Eventually, Alex and Sig waded into the center of things. They began grabbing fighting prisoners and guards alike and throwing them over their shoulders. When Sig had three and Alex had five, they’d created enough of a distraction to interrupt the hostile energy.

“You lot ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” Bald barked. “I am speaking to my incarcerated fellows. You guards ought to be ashamed of yourselves, as well, just for being guards, but I’m talking to the better angels present.” This got a roar of laughter from the prisoners, and Bald continued. “Those in Cell Block F may not know me. I’m Bald. This is Simon. The two meatheads over there are Alex and Sig.”

As Bald paused for breath, Simon picked up the thread. “The guards want us to fight each other. It makes their job easy for them. But think of everything we could accomplish together?” A guard who was free showed an expression of alarm. He started creeping toward Simon, but Bald moved to block him.

“Like what?” one of the prisoners from Cell Block F challenged.

“I believe that Cell Block F uses the same showers as Cell Block G?” Simon asked.

“They do,” Bald confirmed.

Simon smiled at the crowd. “I’m not naming names, but the new shower set up was the product of a group effort.”

“I thought the guards did that?” a Cell Block F prisoner asked.

Bald scoffed. “When have the guards ever done anything nice for us like that? Don’t be naïve!”

The Warden of Cell Block F wiggled off of Alex’s shoulder and tried to regain control of the situation. “All right!” he bellowed. “Cell Block F prisoners, inside!” As the Cell Block F prisoners slowly began to comply, the Warden of Cell Block G freed himself from Sig’s grasp.

“You two!” the Warden of Cell Block G hissed, pointing at Bald and Simon. “Half rations for both of you!”

“Worth it,” Bald muttered under his breath. Simon nodded in agreement.

\---

In Ishval, high on the euphoria of independence declared, Scar, President Shan, Strongine, the Supreme Cleric, Burn, Arieh, Elior, Ilan, Dror, May, Alphonse, Xiao Mei, Olivier, Major Miles, and Amue arrived at the apartment where Scar’s household lived. Some of the alchemists in the group promptly set to work taking out some of the walls. The building material they removed became a stone table large enough to fit everyone. Arieh and President Shan collected the ingredients Burn had bought – he’d had the sense to quickly buy extra before they left the market square – and announced that they would get dinner started. Miles and Amue swiftly offered to help, and before long, pleasant smells began to fill the house.

When food was ready, the younger boys set the table and were only distracted by Xiao Mei a few times before the chore was complete. Everyone gathered around and dug in.

“Delicious,” the Supreme Cleric said. “Absolutely delicious. My compliments to the Arieh, Strongine, Amue, and the Major.”

“Major?” President Shan repeated. “Bah. He should be a general.”

“We can put it to the rest of the Council tomorrow,” the Supreme Cleric said, “but I’m quite in agreement.”

“He’d have that rank already if that bastard had any idea of his worth,” Olivier agreed.

“How long until you have the baby?” May asked Strongine excitedly.

“Any day now,” Strongine said.

“Really?”

“Armstrong women don’t show much,” Amue informed her.

Arieh turned to Olivier. “Are you pregnant?” He looked embarrassed. “I heard about you on the news.”

Olivier threw back her head and laughed. “I am not.”

“Is it because none of the harlot hussies-”

“Arieh!” Burn scolded.

“That’s what the radio called them!”

“It’s still rude.”

“Fine! Is it because none of the women you seduced had big, strong trees?”

With a twinkle in her eyes, Olivier bopped Arieh’s nose with her finger. “Nope!”

“The news only reported my sisters more salacious affairs,” Amue explained. “She’s had men as lovers, too.”

Olivier added, “And I’ve known a couple of women who had, how did you put it, big, strong trees.” She chuckled.

“So how then?” Arieh asked.

Olivier grinned. “Well, my young lad, there are things I can do with my partner that won’t ever lead to pregnancy, even if they possess the parts necessary to make me pregnant.”

“Oh?” May asked. “What sort of things. Maybe Al and I could try them!”

Unfortunately for the Supreme Cleric, who was sitting across from Scar, Scar had just taken a sip of his drink when May spoke. Hastily, he moved around the table and began using his napkin to clean the drink he’s sprayed off of the Supreme Cleric. “A thousand apologies, Master.”

“It’s nothing,” the Supreme Cleric assured him.

“And to answer your question, May,” Scar continued, “Olivier is talking about hugging and kissing and hand-holding. Those are all things you can do with the younger Elric here that won’t lead to pregnancy.”

“Not what I was talking about,” Olivier muttered.

“Yes it was,” Scar said firmly as he took his seat again, “because there are little ears present who are going to tell all of their friends at school tomorrow.”

“Right,” Olivier lied, “hugging and kissing and hand-holding is exactly what I was talking about.”

“Oh, dear,” Strongine said.

“What is it?” Scar asked her.

“I think my water just broke.”

\---

Dr. Abrams helped Scar guide Strongine back to the maternity room in the Free Clinic. Al trailed behind them, carrying Strongine’s overnight bag.

“Isn’t there a bigger hospital?” he asked.

“They’re a bunch of High Letoists,” Dr. Abrams answered. “They’d let Strongine die if there were any complications. Which hopefully there won’t be.”

“Dr. Abrams is my doctor,” Strongine said between panted breaths. Dr. Abrams and Scar helped Strongine into the bed. Al set the overnight bag down on a chair. After Dr. Abrams made sure that Strongine was as comfortable as possible, she shooed Al out of the room.

Scar squeezed his wife’s hand. “I’m right here. I’ll be here the whole time.”

“I don’t want to have a child.”

“What?”

Strongine took a deep breath and said it again. “I don’t want to be a mom.”

“Oh.”

Strongine buried her face in her hands. “What am I going to do? I’m a terrible mother. I don’t like children. The boys run me ragged enough as it is.”

A silence settled on the room. Finally, Scar spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Strongine said. She took her hands away from her face. “Well, okay, it partially is, but it’s just as much mine.”

“I thought,” Scar started. “No, I assumed. I assumed that children were a given.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Strongine said. “Someone’s got to make more little Ishvalans, right?”

“We should have still talked about it,” Scar said. “I’m not good at that. At talking about things.”

“No, you’re not,” Strongine said. “But I rushed into something solely because I’d spent my whole life being told that I couldn’t have it.”

“Well,” Scar said, “we’re late to have the conversation, but here it goes. What do you want, Strongine?”

Strongine thought about it before answering. “To not be a mother in the near future. To…to…”

“Not be married to me?” Scar suggested.

“You’ve been a good husband,” Strongine insisted. “I’ve got no reason to complain.”

Scar smiled gently at her. “But I do not want you to be unhappy.”

“Well, what do you want, Scar?”

“To be a daddy. The boys are great, but, well, they’re not really mine. Once Ishval is free, we can petition for Simon’s release. Or just break him out.”

“So what happens now?” Strongine asked.

“We could get a divorce,” Scar said, “if that’s what you would like. I can take full custody of our child.”

“That’s allowed?”

“It is,” Scar said. “It should not be undertaken hastily, but it is permissible.”

“My family will want to see the child,” Strongine said.

“Even your father?”

“Perhaps not,” Strongine said, “but my sisters will. My mother, as well.”

“That is fine.”

“In that case, yes, Scar, I would like a divorce.”

“In that case, we need witnesses,” Scar said. Sticking his head out of the room, he summoned Dr. Abrams and Al back in.

“What is it?” Dr. Abrams asked.

“Strongine and I are getting a divorce,” Scar said.

When the other two looked at Strongine, she nodded. “We are.”

Scar took a deep breath. “Strongine Armstrong, I divorce you. I divorce you. I divorce you.”

“What?” Al asked.

“Strongine Armstrong and I are now divorced,” Scar said. “I will know her no more.”

“I didn’t realize it was that easy, either,” Strongine admitted. “What about my dowdy?”

“Keep it,” Scar said.

“At least have this,” Strongine said. Her hands went to her neck, where the necklace Scar had given her hung.

Scar shook his head. “Keep it, as well.”

Strongine shook her own head and took it off. “I shouldn’t go around wearing the engagement gift from my ex-husband. I don’t need the money. If I cannot return it, I’d like to give it to our child, to wear or to eventually bequeath to their own loved one.”

“Very well,” Scar said and took the necklace. “Would you like me stay until you give birth?”

“Thank you,” Strongine said.

“Do you need a wet nurse?” Dr. Abrams asked.

“Yes,” Scar said.

“I’ll talk to my sister,” Dr. Abrams said. She left the room with Al, leaving only Scar and Strongine.

“Scar?”

“Yes?”

“If things,” Strongine started and then stopped.

“Hm?”

Strongine began again and this time plowed through the whole sentence. “If things don’t work out between Major Miles and Amue, you should ask Miles out. If Ishval’s going to be independent, you don’t need to worry about hurting his career anymore. I want you to be happy.”

“I want you to be happy, as well,” Scar said. “But what makes you think that things wouldn’t work out between Miles and Amue?”

“I’m just saying,” Strongine insisted, “on the off chance that they don’t.”

\---

By the time Strongine’s labor was complete (the next morning), Dr. Abram’s sister had arrived with her husband and their own baby. Once Dr. Abrams got the new infant cleaned off and clothed in a wrap, she hesitantly turned to Strongine.

“Do you want to hold her at all?”

Strongine shook her head.

Dr. Abrams gave the infant to her sister, who began to nurse her.

“I’d like to hold her, once she’s done feeding,” Scar said.

“Of course,” Dr. Abrams said. “Do you have a name for her?” After the feeding had finished, she handed Scar his daughter.

“Noa,” Scar said. He turned to Strongine. “I’m going to take her out and show everyone.”

Strongine smiled gently at him. “You don’t need to ask my permission.”

Scar left the room to where the crowd from dinner was gathered. Some of them had gone back to the apartment to sleep, but all had arrived back in the Free Clinic in the morning in time for the birth.

“I heard the news,” Miles said. “Tough break.”

“It may be for the best,” Scar said. “I pray to Ishvala that both of us heal as needed.” Noa gurgled and he smiled at her. “This is Noa,” he told everyone.

“Can I hold her?” Amue asked. “She’s still my niece.”

Scar nodded but made no move to hand his new daughter over.

Olivier rolled her eyes. “Scar, you have to let go of your daughter eventually. Besides, Amue needs the practice.”

“What?” Scar asked.

“Ha! I guess she and Miles have been all hush-hush about it, since they’re not properly married yet. I won’t hold it against them, but I do wish they would have at least told me. No offense, Scar, but Noa isn’t the heir to the Armstrong fortune.”

“I don’t follow you,” Scar said. “The Armstrong fortune?”

“Armstrong women may not show much, but I know my sisters.”

“Are you saying…?” Miles asked. He turned to Amue to find her face as rigid as a corpse’s. He didn’t think she would speak at first, but then she steeled herself.

Amue spoke. “Yes, Miles, I’m pregnant.”


	19. Chapter 19

“How can you be pregnant?” Miles asked blankly before a horrifying possibility dawned on him. “Oh, God. Oh, my poor Amue. I had no idea you were carrying such a burden. You mustn’t blame yourself, and I am so sorry that I wasn’t more of a support, but who…?”

Confession, as the good book says, is good for the soul. Burn inhaled sharply, stepped forward, and raised a hand. Scar look at him in alarm, remembering what Burn had previously confided in Scar.

“You bastard!” Miles shouted at Burn.

Scar frowned. “Miles, wait.”

“Stay out of this, Scar,” Burn said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Amue is my sister-in-law,” Scar replied.

“Ex-sister-in-law,” Burn corrected.

“My daughter’s aunt,” Scar insisted.

“This is between the Major and I,” Burn retorted. “Let me handle it.”

Strongine’s words came back to Scar. _If things didn’t work out between Miles and Amue…_ The pieces clicked into place. Strongine had known. Turning on his heal, he went back into the free clinic to press his ex-wife for details.

Miles stepped right up in Burn’s face. Burn expected Miles to punch him. Instead, Miles took off his glove and slapped Burn in the face with it.

“That it?” Burn asked.

“He’s challenged you to a duel,” Olivier explained. “I’ll be his second. Pick your second.”

“Arieh,” Burn said.

“Don’t involve children in your mess!” President Shan chastised. “I’ll be your second.” She glanced at Olivier. “What does a second do, exactly?”

“Mediates the duel,” Olivier said. “Tries to sort things out.”

“There doesn’t need to be a duel,” Amue said. She opened her mouth to correct Miles’ misapprehension, but then Burn looked Amue directly in the eye.

“Yes, there does,” he said. “Miles is your paramour. He’s going to be your husband someday. He has the right to expect his bride to be a virgin.”

“What I expect,” Miles injected, “is for this to be a community where women are safe!”

“I haven’t been a virgin in a decade!” Amue protested at the same time, but that was all that she said. She had seen the pleading look in his eyes and understood what he was trying to do. She bit her lip. Inside of her a voice was screaming _it’s not going to work_, but she did not know what else to do. And as she said nothing, she realized that Burn wouldn’t have even considered this half-assed plan if they both didn’t know just how good of a man Miles was. There were too many everywhere who would have put the blame on Amue even if Miles hadn’t been mistaken about events.

Miles turned swiftly to Amue, and his next words confirmed Amue’s realization. “I don’t hold any of this against you, my love,” he assured her. “I know that the circumstances are all wrong, but I want to marry you, Amue. If you want to keep the baby, we can tell everyone that it’s mine, I will love it with all my heart and all my mind and all my soul. Or if that’s too painful for you, we can find a good family to adopt it. First, I just have to deal with the monster that hurt you.”

“You’re on,” Burn said.

“What shall the weapons be?” Olivier asked. “Swords?”

“I don’t know if Burn knows how to use a sword,” President Shan mused.

“Swords are fine,” Burn said. “Except I don’t have one.”

“Use mine,” Miles said, tossing it to him. It clattered on the ground in front of Burn, and Burn fumbled to pick it up.

“Now you don’t have a weapon,” Burn pointed out. He shifted his grip on the sword, trying to find the balance.

“Yes he does,” Olivier said. Unsheathing her own sword, she tossed it to Miles. He caught it easily.

“You!” Olivier barked at Burn. “Shitstain who raped my sister! Can you see out of both eyes?”

“No,” Burn admitted.

“May I have your handkerchief?” Miles asked Amue. Wordlessly, she fished one out and handed it to him. Olivier stepped forward, took the handkerchief, and tied it around Miles’ head so that it covered one of his eyes.

“What shall the terrain be?” Olivier asked.

“Well,” President Shan said. “I except ice would favor Miles, and sand might favor Burn.”

“Ice is fine,” Burn said quickly.

“It’s supposed to be a fair fight,” Olivier said.

Burn laughed mirthlessly. “I’ve got no combat experience. He’s a Major.”

“Soon to be General,” President Shan added.

“Ice is fine,” Burn repeated.

“The river it is then,” Olivier said. She address Al, May, Arieh, and the Supreme Cleric. “Can you four freeze part of the river? Just the surface should be fine. Make it thick enough that they don’t fall through.”

“I wish to have no part in this,” the Supreme Cleric said. “I think this is foolishness. Accusations of such a serious nature should be handled with in the court of law, not on a frozen river. And if I may say so, Madam President, you shouldn’t be involved in such an affair!”

“I’m a second,” President Shan said. “Sorting this out with no bloodshed is part of my job.”

“I can freeze the river,” Al said, and Arieh and May nodded, as well.

“And I know healing alchemy,” May said.

“Duels are traditionally fought to first blood,” Olivier said before adding, “although anything can happen.”

“That’s not helping your case,” the Supreme Cleric argued.

“Stay here if you must,” Olivier said.

“I believe I will,” the Supreme Cleric said. “In fact, I’m going to see what Scar is doing. Maybe he can talk sense into you all!” The Supreme Cleric headed into the Free Clinic, and the rest walked the short distance to the river and gathered on the bridge.

“Now,” said President Shan. “I believe this is the part where the esteemed Major General and I get this nonsense sorted out.”

“Fair enough,” Olivier said. “What has Burn to say to answer the charges against him?”

“I’ve never known Burn to mistreat a woman before,” President Shan said. She glanced at him. “Burn? Do you have anything to add?”

“No,” Burn said. “Let’s just fight.”

“If you do that, you’re liable to lose more than your reputation,” President Shan scolded. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Instead of answering, Burn turned on his heel and went down to the banks of the river. “Make the arena,” he shouted.

“Under the bridge should be perfect,” Olivier said, “if no one has any objections?” No one did, so Al, May, and Arieh worked together to freeze that part of the river. The ice extended fifteen feet past either side of the bridge, and it spanned the twenty-foot width of the river. Leaping nimbly off the bridge, Miles landed in the arena. He skidded a little, but he maintained his balance.

“Do you prefer the North side or the South side?” Miles asked Burn, who hadn’t stepped on the ice yet.

“It makes no differences to me,” Burn said. He gingerly put a foot on the ice, testing it.

“I’ll take the North side, then,” Miles said. He skidded that way, stopping just short of the edge of the arena.

“All right,” Olivier said, “as soon Burn gets into position, the fight will begin. The fight ends at first blood.”

“Or if someone goes into the river,” President Shan added.

“Are both parties good with those terms?” Olivier asked. Miles and Burn both nodded. Burn stepped fully on the ice. He promptly slipped and fell on his face, nearly dropping the sword that Miles had lent him. Rising carefully, he inched his way to the south end of the arena and then managed to turn to face Miles.

“All right,” Olivier said. “Backs to each other.”

“But I just go turned around,” Burn muttered before carefully turning to face the south side of the river.

“On my count,” Olivier said. “One…two…FIGHT!”

Miles spun around gracefully and began to slide his way toward Burn, his sword held ready. Burn dropped his own weapon and dove forward. Miles slashed at him with his sword as he went past, but Burn was too low to the icy floor of the arena for Miles’ sword to connect. After that, Miles had to focus on changing his momentum before he went headlong into the river. On the north-side of the arena, Burn had come to halt and was struggling to get to his feet.

Burn realized that he had dropped his sword as Miles came toward him for another attack. Burn knew that he could just conveniently fall into the river, but he’d known when he’d agreed to the fight that he wouldn’t survive it. That was fine. While Amue might have consented to their tryst, he had intentionally tempted her, and he had done so because he had wanted to hurt Miles. This was the only way he could see to fix things. Before him, Miles was coming fast, and he knew that first blood would be Miles’ sword through his heart. He closed his good eye and waited for the end to come.

The ice shook.

Burn opened his eye to see Amue standing before him, her arms outspread. Burn looked around wildly for Miles. At first he didn’t see him, but then spotted him. Miles was in the river! Burn realized he had swerved to avoid hitting Amue.

Bedraggled, Miles pulled himself back on the ice. “What’s going on?” he demanded. He’d lost Amue’s handkerchief in the water.

“You were going to kill him!” Amue accused.

“No I wasn’t!” Miles protested. “Okay, I was angling to cut off his-” Miles paused and flushed before finishing untruthfully, “-_arm_. But he deserved it for… for what he did to you!”

“Oh, damn it all,” Amue swore. “Miles, Burn didn’t rape me. I cheated on you. Burn’s just trying to be all noble and cover up my infidelity. Which is so sweet of him, but I don’t want a relationship with you built on lies. And I’d rather him have all his limbs – and other body parts – intact.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Miles,” Amue said, “but it’s true.”

Miles looked at Amue and Burn together. He really looked at them. “You two love each other, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Burn said. “Uh, your sword.” He recovered it from where he’d dropped it and then held it out, handle first. Miles wordless took it and returned it to his sheathe. Olivier’s sword he still held, but the tip was pointed down, at the ice.

“We do,” Amue agreed. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miles. I never meant to hurt you.”

“That doesn’t...Amue, it’s over,” Miles said. He called up to the bridge. “Olivier, I’m formerly breaking my courtship with your sister Amue.”

“Noted,” Olivier said. “That’s very understandable.”

“Miles…” That was Amue, a note of pleading in her voice.

“I hope you two are happy together,” Miles said fiercely.

“Oh, there you all are,” Scar’s voice called, and he and the Supreme Cleric came down to the bank of the river. Scar looked from where Miles stood, drenched and dejected, to where Amue and Burn stood, together. “I guess everyone knows.”

Scar grasped the reeds that grew up through the now frozen shallows. Concentrating, he used alchemy to turn them into a towel. Striding over to Miles, careful not to lose his balance on the ice, he began drying Miles’ hair off.

“Thanks,” Miles muttered.

“Coming down,” Olivier called from above them. Leaping nimbly over the side of the bridge, she landed on the ice beside them.

“Your sword,” Miles said. He bowed slightly and presented Olivier’s sword to her, handle first.

“You wielded it well,” Olivier said and sheathed it.

“So what happened?” Scar asked. He shifted positions so that he could dry Miles’ back off.

Olivier was not the one who answered. She was focused on using her handkerchief to dry Miles’ face off. Once Scar was finished with Miles’ back, she slipped her jacket off. Then she wrapped it around Miles’ shoulders until the spring sun of Ishval finished warming him up.

“I lost,” Miles said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only seemed fair that Miles and Amue's relationship end with appropriate theatrics. (Authors can have little a melodrama, as a treat.)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days, I need to write something proper with Emperor Ling, but for now, I'm happy I had cause to include him in this chapter.

That afternoon, the Council of Elders convened to make a series of decisions. Major Miles Miles became Brigadier General Miles Miles. The Amestrian soldiers who wished to keep their commissions in Amestrian military were loaded onto the trains and sent back to East City. Miles fielded an angry phone call from first Mustang and then Grumman. The Council, upon being informed of this, decided to send Miles, Scar, Olivier, and May to Xing.

“Esteemed elders,” Scar asked, “is it really a good idea to send Brigadier General Miles to Xing at a time like this? What if Amestris attacks?”

“It’s because you want to have a military presence in the delegation,” Olivier said. “That’s why you’ve asked me to go, as well?”

“It is,” said the Supreme Cleric. “I know that you are not a citizen of Ishval, so we cannot command you-”

Olivier held up a hand. “I do not object to the request. I’ll go.” She turned to Scar. “Amestris can’t muster its army in a day. The reality of logistics will hopefully buy us some time for this trip.”

“Well, I’m not going without Alphonse,” May declared.

“Oh, sure,” said President Shan.

“The trip shouldn’t take more than a few days,” May added, looking at Olivier. “Will that be quick enough?”

“It should be,” Olivier said, “but we won’t want to dawdle if we can help it. If it isn’t enough time, well, I trained Brigadier General Miles. The soldiers he trained can fight without him, yes?”

“Of course,” Miles said. That, after all, was the Briggs way.

“I am not leaving my daughter,” Scar declared. He was cradling baby Noa as he spoke. “So her milk nurse will need to come as well. And what is to be done about the boys?”

After a bit of discussion, Burn agreed to watch Elior, Ilan, and Dror in Scar’s absence. Scar was relieved that they would be with someone they knew. Scar’s apartment had been a whirlwind of activity. Strongine had moved out, getting a hotel room. Amue, on the other hand, had been discussing getting an apartment with Burn, with separate rooms for President Shan and Arieh. However, Burn promised to wait until Scar’s return to do that, so as to limit the amount of sudden change that Elior, Ilan, and Dror were subject to.

Additionally, not only Noa’s milk nurse (and her baby daughter) but also the milk nurse’s husband was added to the traveling party. The milk nurse was named Hadas Orenstein, the baby daughter was Sarah Orenstein, and her husband was Nitzan Orenstein. The party was set to leave the next morning. Their goal was to obtain Xing’s support for the cause of Ishvalan independence.

They left by the train station beneath the market. Gently sloping paths spiraled downward. They eventually opened up into the underground cavern that the trains came and left from. The woman at the ticket booth was a sour faced Amestrian woman.

“Is it true that you’re kicking all of the Amestrians out?” the woman asked Scar.

“No,” said Scar. “As Ishval is now independent, we have removed the occupying force, but Amestrians who have their home here are welcome to stay.”

“And if things go badly,” Miles said brightly, “you can just slip back to Amestris with no one the wiser.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” said the woman. “It’s just, I didn’t vote in the elections the other day.”

“Weren’t you offered a ballot?” Miles asked with a frown. He glanced at Olivier, who communicated through body language that she thought she’d given everyone a ballot but didn’t remember the face of everyone, as the ballots had been handed out quickly.

“I didn’t think I was supposed to!” the woman said. “I thought only Ishvalans were supposed to vote.”

“I’ll speak to the Council of Elders when I return,” Miles promised. “There’s probably going to be fighting soon, but once the dust settles, we may want to have another round of elections.”

“But rest assured that we don’t want anyone driven from their homes,” Scar promised her. “We understand how terrible that is better than anyone.”

“Thanks,” the woman said, her demeanor brightening. “Here are you tickets to Xing. Please be on board fifteen minutes before the listed departure time.”

The trip to Xing took five hours once they left. The first leg of the journey was across the flat, unchanging expanse of the Great Desert. Scar spent it cooing at Noa, except when she was being nursed, in which case he fiddled with his Philosopher’s Stone ring instead. May asked to see it at one point and just looked at it sadly. May spent the rest of the time deep in a whispered conversation with Al.

Miles spent much of the time staring off into empty space, and as the sand of the Great Desert gave way to the forests and grasslands of Xing proper, both Olivier and Scar found themselves watching him more and more.

“You never mentioned what clan of Xing you were descended from,” Olivier remarked at one point, trying to start a conversation.

“I didn’t know you were Xingese!” May exclaimed. “We could be kin.”

Miles shook his head. “That branch of my family comes from the Tan and the Li clans.”

“Do clans of Xing usually intermarry?” Scar asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“It depends,” May said.

“It was forbidden love in their case,” Miles said forlornly. “That’s why they ran away to the west.”

The conversation sputtered and died after that, and very little more was said until the train pulled up to the Imperial City. May took charge then, making arrangements for a couple of cars to take them to the Chang estate. Once there, May explained the situation to her mother, who set about ensuring that there would be enough food for dinner. While she was doing that, May sent word to her brother the Emperor to request an audience.

“He can see us tomorrow!” May told them at dinner.

“That is quick,” Olivier commented. “I would think that the Emperor would be a busy man.”

“He is,” May said, “so we’ll want to keep it brief, but the Emperor tries to make time for everyone.”

“The Chang family was the first to support his claim to the throne,” May’s mother added, “so we get certain allowances.”

When it was time to turn in, everyone was put up in rooms in the guest wing, but Scar found that he could not sleep. Baby Noa was fussing anyway, so Scar picked her up in his arms and decided to see if Miles was awake. In the dim light, he nearly ran into Olivier outside of Miles’ door.

“Who’s making all the racket out there?” Miles called.

“It’s me,” Scar said.

“And me.”

“Come in then.”

Scar and Olivier entered to find Miles sitting on his bed staring at a blank section of the wall. Olivier turned on a lamp so that they had more than the moonlight to see by.

“How are you doing?” Scar asked.

“I’m fine,” Miles said. He didn’t shift his attention from the wall. Scar gingerly took a seat on the bed beside him.

“If you were my husband,” Scar began, “I would have been faithful to you.”

Miles finally tore his attention away from the wall, but for some reason, it was to look at Olivier. It was only a momentarily glance, but something was communicated.

“I’ve never been happy with a single lover,” Olivier said. Her tone was a mixture of haughtiness and defensiveness and an air of the unapologetic. “But I’ve never lied to any of my paramours,” she stated. “They’ve always known about all the rest – that there were all of the rest. My sister behaved cowardly, and she treated you shamefully.”

Now Miles looked at Scar with an expression that Scar couldn’t read. “What about you?” Miles asked.

“What about me?” Scar asked.

“Your marriage just fell apart,” Miles said. “You’re sad too, even if you don’t show it.”

“I am,” Scar said, “but I know that what happened was for the best. And I have born worse. Besides, if my marriage did not last as long as expected, it lasted long enough to give me this little gift.” He beamed down at Noa, and a smile finally threatened to break out on Miles’ face.

“She is a cute kid,” he said. “Big, too.”

“She’s an Armstrong,” Olivier said proudly. “Excuse me, a Cohen-Armstrong.”

“Can you-” Miles started, but then he stopped and looked down.

“Hm?” Scar asked.

“Nothing,” Miles said. “You two should probably get back to your rooms. We’ve got a big meeting in the morning.”

Their meeting with Emperor Ling was over breakfast. Only Scar, Miles, Olivier, and May were to attend, although Scar insisted on bringing Noa along, as well. At the moment, he had her strapped to his chest, which allowed him to keep his hands free but also coo at her.

A court officiant met them at the door to the room containing the Imperial Throne. He opened the door. Scar and the rest could just see a group of supplicants leave through a door on the left. In the center of the room along the back wall, at the end of a long, ornate, richly colored carpet, was Emperor Ling. He sat poised on the throne, an expression of sereneness of his face.

“Approach the throne,” the court officiant explained in crisp Amestrian, “then kowtow three times when you’re six feet away.”

“I can’t kowtow,” Scar said.

“Religious objections?” the court officiant asked.

“Yes,” Scar said, “but also her.” He pointed at Noa.

“Well-” the court officiant began, but Ling interrupted him.

“There’s no time for all that,” Ling shouted. He leapt off his throne and headed for a door on the right. “Come on, food’s this way.” A silent figure in a mask followed him. The court officiant attempted to call after him, but Ling ignored him.

“That’s Lan Fan,” May said by way of introduction, and Scar placed her in the events of the Promised Day.

“I had to squeeze this meeting in,” Ling said as they followed him into the dining room, “so things are going to be a bit informal.” He waved his hand to the feast that lay before them. “Help yourself.”

There was soybean milk with deep-fried dough sticks, stuffed steamed buns, tofu pudding, noodles, steamed rice, congee, wontons, dumplings, pancakes with eggs, dim sum, and tea. Ling grabbed one of the plates that had been set at the end of the table with the food and began piling it high. The others followed suit.

“It’s imperial protocol to take less than the emperor,” May stage-whispered, “but Lan Fan’s the only one who’s ever had to worry about that.”

“Running an empire is hard!” Ling protested. “I need sustenance to keep going. Anyway, May’s message said that Ishval is in a bit of a rough spot.” As soon as he stopped speaking, he began cramming food in his mouth.

“Yes,” Miles said. “We have declared independence. We expect the Amestrian military to retaliate soon.”

Ling swallowed and frowned. “Have you tried making friends with the opposition?”

“They’re not friendly,” Olivier said curtly.

“Do you wish to be part of Xing?” Ling asked.

Scar shook his head. “We desire independence.”

“That’s an adorable baby you’ve got there. She yours?”

“Yes,” Scar said proudly. “She is only a few days old.”

“No! Really? She’s so big!” Ling pulled a face at Noa, who gurgled. While he did that, he spoke business. “What is it that you want from Xing?”

“Our trade to continue,” Scar said.

“And military assistance as an ally,” Miles added.

“And what if things don’t go your way?” Ling asked. “What if you get stomped flat? What do I tell Grumman when he gets pissed at me for taking sides in an internal matter?”

“We don’t believe it will come to that,” Olivier said haughtily.

“And if it does, you’ll be dead, and I’ll be left holding the bag,” Ling said neatly. “This isn’t Xing’s problem.”

“What if I adopted them?” May asked suddenly.

“What?”

“What if I adopted them into the Chang clan?” May asked.

“Who? All of Ishval?”

“If necessary!” May said. “If they were members of the Chang clan, you’d have to protect them.”

“If they were members of the Chang clan,” Ling countered, “I’d demand Ishval become part of Xing.” He smiled. “Still, you do make a good point. There are many Xingese merchants who reside in Ishval. I could send a small defensive force to make sure they were safe.” Scar heard the unspoken part. They could use the defensive force to protect non-combatants, as well.

“What about the trade policies?” Scar pressed.

Ling held up his index finger. “One condition. When the dust settles, I want Ishval to maintain trade with Amestris. No arguments. We want our trade with Amestris to continue. It can continue through Ishval, but it must continue.”

Olivier, Scar, and Miles looked at each other. “Understood,” they said. They finished eating and then returned to the Chang Estate. There, they decided that they should return to Ishval as soon as possible, so they packed their things, and the whole ensemble headed to the train station.

On the train ride back, Miles silently berated himself. Ishval was counting on him. He didn’t have the luxury of moping. So as soon as they arrived back in Ishval, Miles headed back to his office while Scar and Olivier went to speak to the Council. He found Kain Fuery sitting outside of his door. Libi Heyman and Murray were standing on either side of him.

“He came unarmed,” Murry said gruffly.

“Just an hour ago,” Libi added. “He insisted that he speak to you alone.”

Miles nodded. “State your piece.”

“Ishval is to surrender or prepare for war.”


	21. Chapter 21

Miles wasted no time joining Scar and Olivier and met them just as they finished recounting their trip to Xing to the Council of Elders. Miles filled all of them in on what he had learned.

“This is dire,” said the Supreme Cleric. “Reinforcements from Xing will not arrive in time.”

“We can fight them,” Scar said.

“We can and we will,” Miles said, “but this would be a good time for there to be a convenient prison break.”

“I could deliver a message to Alex,” Olivier said, “under the pretense of visiting him.”

“No one would believe that you’d visit your brother,” Miles said.

“Then I will cut down all in my path!” Olivier declared.

“Why not send me?”

“Who said that?” asked President Shan.

“I did.”

“You’re that clown, aren’t you?”

“Yoki, Madam President Sir.”

“What’s the fastest you’ve ever traveled?” Scar asked.

“Um, out of canon. But that only works for short distances.”

“Could we fire you all the way to Central?” Miles asked.

“…Maybe?”

“We need more minds for this than just us present,” Scar said, and it became a community discussion. There were many factors to account. First, they had to make a canon powerful enough to get Yoki all the way to Central City, which was a good many kilometer away.

“How does your canon work usually?” Miles asked.

“It’s spring-powered,” Yoki explained.

“Can we make a spring tightly coiled enough to get your there?” Scar asked.

Yoki shrugged, and Scar worked out the calculations. He soon realized that that would not be feasible. 

“What about an actual canon?” Olivier asked. “We have those at Briggs.”

“I think that would kill me,” Yoki said.

“We could strap a note to your chest,” Olivier suggested.

“What if I threw him?” Strongine asked. “I can throw very far.”

“I like that plan!” Yoki beamed.

“Not even the patterned Armstrong throw would be enough, I’m afraid,” Olivier said. “We’ll have to use explosive force. Your sacrifice will be remembered, Clown.”

Second, they had to figure out a way to get Yoki to Central City without killing him.

“We’ll need to separate Yoki from where the explosive force occurs,” Scar said, “but the barrier can’t be too heavy. The heavier the barrier is, the bigger explosion that will be needed. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“What if the barrier is air!” Ilan suggested. “Air doesn’t get in the way of anything!”

“That just might work,” the Supreme Cleric exclaimed. He fumbled for some paper and began making doodles. “As long as there’s sufficient distance between Yoki and the explosive force, he’ll be safe.”

“We need to turn the canon around,” President Shan injected.

“What? And fire him into the ground?” Olivier asked.

“No,” President Shan said. “We just need a really big rocket.”

“A what?” Yoki asked.

“A rocket,” President Shan repeated. “I remember them from when I visited Xing proper back in my youth. That was a long time ago now.” With some hesitation as she dredged up long unused memories, she explained how it would work.

“He’ll need a parachute then,” Miles said. “And some protective clothing.”

Lastly, they just had to calculate the trajectory. President Shan did the preliminary calculations, and then several others checked her math, to make sure there were no errors. Yoki insisted on that.

With alchemy, it didn’t take long for the rocket, protective clothing, and parachute to be constructed. Yoki had a seat on the very tip of it, and Scar ignited the blast. Everyone stood back and watched as smoke poured out from the base of the rocket, and Yoki took to the sky.

“Godspeed you,” Scar muttered. Yoki became a twinkle in the sky and then was gone. An hour passed, then another, and then a gunshot was heard in the distance.

“There here,” Miles said. He raised his voice then. “Soldiers! To me.”

“I want to fight,” Amue and Burn said with one voice, and Miles was surprised at how little it hurt to see them acting in accord.

“You’re very pregnant,” Burn pointed out.

“I will stand on a roof and launch range attacks,” Amue responded. They kissed and headed to their positions, and Miles found that that didn’t hurt at all.

Scar’s heart ached at the thought of more blood split on Ishvalan soil, but he saw no way to avoid it. He entrusted baby Noa to her milk nurse and asked her to watch the boys as well.

“I don’t need to be watched!” Arieh protested. He held up his tattooed arms. “I am alchemist. I can-” He stopped his protests, and a thoughtful look crossed his face. “I can get all of the non-combatants to the Holy Temple and raise a diamond-hard wall around us. Because I don’t know anything about fighting, do I?”

Scar smiled at him. “You are a fine son of Ishval. Be on your guard. The enemy will have alchemists among their numbers.”

“I’ll help out there, too,” Strongine said, “since I only just got out of the hospital.”

“We’ll help, too,” the Supreme Cleric and President Shan said. “It is Brigadier General Miles’ time to lead now.”

Scar nodded and rushed to the front lines, which proved to be edge of town. The Amestrian troops had come by train, but they hadn’t come all the way to the station, no doubt because it would be too easy for them to get cut off early in their attack. Basil Cholmondeley was at the front. He held up a hand, and all of Amestrian soldiers stayed their guns. Cholmondeley mounted his camel and rode the rest of the way where Scar, Miles, and the forces of Ishval were.

“That was a warning shot,” Cholmondeley informed them when he arrived. “This is no sneak attack. We want to give you a chance to behave. Surrender or be crushed.”

Miles grit his teeth. “Ishval stands independent. Return to Amestris or face opposition.”

“I’ll say, good chap,” Cholmondeley declared, “There’s no need for any of that. Why, you’re a rag-tag bunch of primitive riff-raff. You haven’t got a chance. We’ve got overwhelming numbers on our side, and the Flame Alchemist is en route with reinforcements. Do surrender.”

“No.”

Another camel rode up beside Cholmondeley, and Miles recognized Everhart. “Can we kill them now, sir?” Everhart asked.

“Oh, go right ahead,” Cholmondeley said, “if we do away with the ones in front of us, the rest will fall in line well enough. Attack!”

It was pantomime after that. There was the crack of gunshots and the crackle of alchemy. There was blood and guts and screams of pain. Scar barely processed his own experiences in battle, and other happenings – like the defense of the non-combatants in the Holy Temple from some Amestrian soldiers who slipped passed the Ishvalan forces – were ones that Scar did not learn about until later.

He remembered - as he swung his hand of destruction at Cholmondeley – Cholmondeley shouting, “Where the Hell are reinforcements?” Then Cholmondeley dodged, stumbled, fell on his stomach, wiggled his butt in a circle, and Scar was being thrown backwards by a pillar of sand that shot out of the ground and hit him in the stomach. Still, Scar was heartened as he realized that prison break distraction had been a success.

\---

In Central City, Sig and Alex had upturned a police vehicle. Simon and Bald were monitoring the prisoners that they had released, intervening if they attempted anything more than property damage. Yoki was astride the overturned police car. He had taken his shirt off and was waving it over his head.

“RIOT!” Yoki yelled at the top of his lungs. “We’re gonna have a riot!”

Two of the other escaped criminals had cornered a woman and her two children. Bald grabbed one of the criminal’s arms, and Alex moved to grab the arm of the other criminal.

“Now remember what we discussed before we let you out,” he reminded the two other prisoners. “Property damage only.”

Simon smiled reassuringly at the frightened family. “You might want to spend the rest of the day inside,” he suggested. The woman nodded and immediately fled with her youngsters in tow.

A gout of flame shot through the air and set Yoki’s shirt alight. He dropped it instantly, shook his singed fingers, and then jumped into a trash can. Tipping the trash can on its side, he set it rolling downhill down the street. The words “Riot!” could be dimly heard from within the trash can as he made his retreat.

Alex and Bald turned at the noise. “Looks like Flame Boy is here,” Bald said. He took a step to his left, so that he was standing between Simon and Brigadier General Roy Mustang.

The Flame Alchemist wore a grim expressions and gloves coated with an explosive substance. He assessed the individuals before them.

“I have burned two homunculi, a god, and more mortals than I care to count. Two of you here fought with me on the Day of Reckoning. Please come quietly.”

Bald glanced at Simon behind him and then nodded. The gig was up.

\---

When the cries of “Retreat!” finally came, they were shouted in Amestrian, not Ishvalan. Scar chose not to chase them. He still had work to do. Clutching the fist that wore the ring that contained the Philosopher’s Stone with Marcoh’s soul, he began seeking out the wounded.

The ring responded eagerly to Scar’s will, and under his touch, bones became unbroken, severed limbs were reattached, and internal organs were repaired. The Philosopher’s Stone worked miracles, and Scar healed all the serious injuries he encountered.

“Help him,” Scar heard Burn cry. He turned to the left and saw Miles laying on the ground, trembling. Scar immediately went to him. Miles’ midsection contained what should have been a fatal wound. Scar concentrated the Stone upon it and set to work. Burn continued to speak with anguish as Scar did so. “Oh, God, there was that soldier – that one who shot me in the foot – and he was going to kill me, and then, oh, sweet Ishvala, Brigadier General Miles got between us and shot him instead, but he got shot as well, and please tell me that he’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay, right? Scar, please? I know I messed up. I know I….please, can you heal him?”

Scar smiled as Miles’ wounds disappeared. “He’s going to be fine.”

“Better than the other guy,” Miles said weakly. He coughed. Scar glanced to his side and saw the dead body of Everhart.

“Shh…” Scar said. “You don’t need to talk.”

“I do,” Miles said. “I love you.” He coughed again. “Needed to tell you that.”

“I love you, too,” Scar said.

“But…but…” Miles continued. He went silent for a moment and then spoke again. “I love Olivier, too.”

Scar knelt down and kissed Miles on the forehead. “Ishvala gave you a big heart. It is not my place to question that. I am content to share you if she is, although you must be content to share _her_, I think.”

“I can do that,” Miles promised.

“Can do what?” Olivier asked, coming over to them.

Miles looked up at her from his place on his back. “I’m in love with both you and Scar.”

“Hm,” Olivier said. “I’ve got no intention of moving to Ishval. Briggs needs me. Amestris needs me, if I can succeed in getting Grumman thrown out of office. Mustang, too.”

“You’d make a good president,” Miles said.

“Thank you,” Olivier said. She nudged Miles with her foot. “Can you get up?”

“I guess I won’t be sharing you after all,” Scar said, “if Olivier doesn’t want you.”

“That is not what I said,” Olivier retorted sharply. “I intend to visit Free Ishval often. Now, is the Brigadier General all healed up?”

“Almost,” Miles said. “I’ve got a cut on my leg. It’s nasty, but I’ll survive.”

“I can fix that,” Scar said. Crouched down, he started to apply the power of the Philosopher’s Stone to the wound, but there was a burst of light when he did so. When he could see again, the Stone was gone, and the ring was just a ring. Marcoh’s soul was free.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by the Prophet Ezekiel.

“Be not afraid.”

Tim Marcoh looked up sharply. He was quite certain that he was dead, and the entity in front of him confirmed it. The being before him, well, not even the most imaginative chimera creations of alchemy came close. It had wings and four faces (one of an eagle, one of a lion, one of a man, and one so bizarre Marcoh couldn’t begin to describe it). Where its feet should have been was a wheel, and within that wheel was another wheel. The wheels turned as the being moved about, and that shouldn’t have been possible or the wheels shouldn’t have been part of the body, but both were true. Its entire body was covered in eyes, which blinked and looked about asynchronously.

“You’re an angel of Ishvala,” Marcoh said. “The Supreme Cleric told me about them. You.”

“Yes.”

“I’d hoped that I would have had longer,” Marcoh said, blinking back tears.

“Was three years not enough time to atone?” the angel asked.

Marcoh hugged himself. “Thirty years wouldn’t have been enough.”

“Would a hundred years be sufficient?”

“What?”

“Would you like a hundred more years to atone? To help and aide and care for the Ishvalan people?”

“Yes,” Marcoh whispered. “May I have that?”

“You won’t remember,” the angel warned him. “Not until you come here again.”

“That’s fine.”

“Nor will you be the same as you were the last time you tread the mortal realm.”

“I accept that, as well.”

“Then let it be so,” the angel boomed.

The change began immediately. Marcoh found himself sinking into the ground and shrinking in size. At first he thought he was becoming a Philosopher’s Stone again, but then he realized that the part of the mortal realm he was now in was the date farm where Burn worked. He wasn’t becoming a Stone. He was becoming the seed of a date palm.

Marcoh smiled peacefully before he ceased to have lips, and his last thoughts (before he ceased to have a brain capable of thinking) was to recall how Scar had told him that the date palm was known as the Gift of Ishvala for all of its uses – and to hope that he would be the best date palm that he could be.

\---

A period of waiting ensured after the Amestrian forces retreated. During that time, more defensive forces from Xing arrived. Scar learned that an initial regiment had been dispatched almost as soon as Scar’s group had left Xing themselves. The first group of Xingese soldiers had arrived during the battle and helped to defend the Holy Temple. Even with the additions, the Xingese soldiers weren’t a large number, but they set about providing care for those who needed it. There were few wounded to attend to – just those who’d been injured during the assault on the Holy Temple – and a small number of dead to be taken to the morgue. Scar led the prayers for the dead, and he silently prayed fervently that their lives were not lost in vain.

Scar felt his master’s hand on his shoulder. “Do not regret the path we have chosen,” said the Supreme Cleric. “You fight now not for vengeance but for our lives.”

Miles came up beside him. “There’d be more deaths if we stayed under Amestris’ heel.”

“It would just be slower, by starvation and neglect.” That was Olivier, who’d come up behind Miles.

“Thank you,” Scar said. “I want to check on my daughter and the boys.”

“Brigadier General?” Miles heard Burn ask. He turned to see the other man standing nervously beside him.

“What is it, Burn?”

“You saved my life.”

“I’m a soldier. It’s my duty.”

“Thank you,” Burn muttered. He looked at his feet. “Why did you do it?”

“I told you already,” Miles said.

“But-”

“My lover is not so petty as to let a man die just because he’s prone to sticking his entire head up his own ass,” Olivier informed him.

“Lover?” Burn echoed incredulously.

“Do you have an issue with that?” Olivier demanded.

“Um…Major General?” Burn asked.

“Yes?” Olivier asked. It was only one word, but she managed a great deal of contempt in it.

“You’re head of the Armstrong family, correct?”

“I am.”

“May I have your sister’s hand in marriage?”

“If she’ll have you,” Olivier said.

“I intend to ask her,” Burn said. He gave a nervous laugh. “If she agrees, that means we’ll be family. So you’ll have to be more courteous to me.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Olivier said. Before Burn could say more, Olivier had taken Miles by the hand and led him away.

“Where are we going?”

“Yes, where are you taking the Brigadier General?” President Shan asked as they passed her.

“He’s taking an hour break,” Olivier said.

A smile slowly spread across Miles’ face. “I’m taking an hour break.” He lowered his voice so only Olivier could hear. “I’m going to need to be able to walk afterward.”

“Fair.”

“And we should let Scar know,” Miles insisted.

Olivier smiled at him. “Of course.”

\---

The prison break was going swimmingly, but Alex, Simon, Bald, and Sig were sitting on the floor of Central Command headquarters, in restraints. Riza Hawkeye had her gun trained on them. Roy Mustang was nearby, attending to the phone in his temporary office. Every time he hung it up, it would promptly ring again. Elsewhere in the city, the escaped prisoners (along with Yoki) were still causing much mayhem. Stores had been robbed, windows had been broken, and motor vehicles had been set afire. Simon smiled grimly to himself. For the time being, at least, Mustang’s attention was on something other than destroying Ishval.

The phone rang again. It was Grumman on the other line. The prisoners knew this because Grumman was screaming so loudly that he could be heard easily.

“Cholmondeley had to retreat!” Grumman shouted. “What’s keeping you?”

“Still occupied with the prison break,” Mustang said. “We’ve caught the ring-leaders, but-”

“No, you haven’t,” Simon piped up.

Mustang turned his attention from the phone. “What?”

“We’re not the ring leaders,” Simon lied.

“Yeah,” Bald added. “We’re just flunkies.”

“Really?” Mustang asked skeptically. He fixed his penetrating stare on Alex. “You’re a flunky, Armstrong?”

“Maybe,” Alex said slyly.

“The real ring leader is the warden,” Sig invented. “The prison break was an inside job. He removed Alex’s restraints to allow him to use alchemy to let everyone escape.”

“Uh huh,” Mustang said. “I think it’s more likely that Armstrong taught his boyfriend to do alchemy.”

“I am not his boyfriend,” Sig protested.

Mustang sighed and set down the phone so he could rub his temples. “I meant the Ishvalan.”

“I’m not his boyfriend, either,” Simon answered.

“That’s right,” Alex said. “He’s Bald’s boyfriend.”

“No, I’m not,” Simon said.

“Yeah, he’s not,” Bald said. “Simon doesn’t swing the way.” He grinned. “I asked.”

Alex glanced around Simon at Bald. “Does that mean you’re available?”

Bald guffawed. “Available for the firing squad, from the looks of things, but yes.”

“MUSTANG!” Grumman bellowed over the telephone. Mustang hastily picked up the receiver again.

“Yes, sir?”

“This Ishvalan revolt needs to be put down!”

“Yes, sir,” Mustang said. “I will be heading that way as soon as I deal with these yahoos and the rest of the rioting prisoners are rounded up.”

“Good,” Grumman said. “When you do, I want you to decimate Ishval.”

Mustang’s grip tightened on the phone. “With all due respect, sir, I cannot destroy the region.”

“I didn’t tell you to destroy it,” Grumman snapped. “I said to decimate it. Kill one out of ten. We’ll have peace after that.”

“I cannot follow those orders, sir,” Mustang said.

“You’re a solider, my boy,” Grumman said. “You don’t get to choose when and if you follow orders.”

“I understand, sir,” Mustang said. He hung up the phone. It promptly rang again. He ignored it. He stuck his head out of his office. “Hawkeye! Breda! Havoc! In my office, now.” They filed in. “We’ve been ordered by Grumman to decimate the Ishvalan people.” He took a deep breath. “I will not be following orders.”

“Nor will I,” Hawkeye said.

“Please,” Mustang said. “On the Promised Day, I asked you not to die. For what I intend to do next, I cannot guarantee that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hawkeye said. “I’m coming with you.”

“As am I,” Havoc said.

“Me, too,” Breda said. “Come what may.”

“Even if we die,” added Havoc.

“And what is it that you are planning to do?” Bald asked.

“I intend to attack Cholmondeley’s forces,” Mustang said.

“Can we help?” Simon asked.

“We’re with you,” Alex said, beaming.

“Right,” said Sig.

They left the office shortly after that, the prisoners still bound to avoid attracting attention. They took the train to East City and then transferred to the Ishvalan line. Simon fidgeted on the train ride.

“You’re worried about your boys?” Alex asked.

Simon nodded. “I’d rather them grow up under Scar’s care than lose them, but if I die, it’s going to cut them deeply.”

“You have children?” Mustang asked.

Simon eyed him wearily. “Yeah. I haven’t seen them since you had me arrested, whipped, and imprisoned for the unspeakable crime of not wanting my family to starve.”

Mustang looked down at his gloved hands. “I was wrong.” Reaching under his seat, he pulled out four rifles and passed them out to the prisoners. After he nodded at Hawkeye, she undid their restraints.

The train slowed as it reached the train that Cholmondeley’s forces had retreated to. Mustang stepped out first, and Cholmondeley went over to him.

“Ah, Mustang, glad to see you.”

His face set, Mustang raised a gloved hand and snapped his fingers. Cholmondeley fell back, dead. A cry of “Traitor!” went up, and the soldiers who had been under Cholmondeley’s command began firing. Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Sig, Simon, Alex, and Bald returned fire of their own.

Havoc fell first, injured. Breda took shrapnel after that, as he provided Havoc with emergency care. Mustang and Hawkeye were killed within seconds of each other. A bullet just grazed Sig’s head, so Bald and Simon grabbed him to pull him to safety while Alex covered them.

Then there were gunshots from even further away, as the Ishvalan troops under Brigadier General Miles’ command assaulted the Amestrian army regiment from the other side. Within a minute, the Amestrian army regiment had surrendered.

Simon grinned when he saw Scar walking toward him. “How are my boys?” he asked.

“Well,” Scar said, “but they miss their father.” He embraced Simon and then members of the Ishvalan army helped the six survivors into Free Ishval.


	23. Chapter 23

The captured Amestrian forces were taken as prisoners of war. Scar and the other alchemists constructed a large, underground (so it would be cooler) prison until they could be ransomed back to Amestris. Then they awaited Grumman’s move. Brigadier General Miles reported the results of the battle over the phone to Grumman. At first Grumman made protestations, but he went silent as Miles recounted the dead and came to Hawkeye and Mustang’s names.

“I’ll speak to you again,” Grumman said before hanging up the phone.

It took a few days before anyone heard anything, but then Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina rode into the Settlement astride a camel.

“Lieutenant,” Miles greeted her.

“Grumman had resigned,” Catalina said.

“You sound glum,” Miles said. “I’d hardly think you’d miss him.”

“Riza Hawkeye and I were close,” Catalina said.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I never meant for it to happen like this.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I was your mystery informant.”

Miles nodded. “Hence why I had such good intel from the midst of Grumman’s office. Ishval thanks you for your aid. I’m sure there’s a medal in order.”

“Keep it,” Catalina said. “I didn’t do it for the fame.”

“Well, if there’s anything you need, you need only ask.”

“I need Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong.”

Miles grinned. “I didn’t know you were one of her lovers.”

“I’m not,” Catalina said. She made a face. “Tell me she’s not as bad as Grumman.”

“You needn’t worry; she didn’t make any advances on me when I was her subordinate.”

“You two are together?”

“We are.”

“That’s no good.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I need Major General Armstrong to take over as president,” Catalina stated. “At least until we can figure out what to do.”

Miles smiled. “As president, I’ve got no doubt she’ll have cause to visit Ishval for business and pleasure.”

“It’s not going to be good for the president of Amestris to be fraternizing with the highest ranked general of an enemy nation!”

“There’s no need for Ishval to be an enemy nation,” Miles said. “Perhaps Amestris and Ishval could be close neighbors.”

“You won’t be able to keep your relationship with the Major General a secret,” Catalina warned.

“I don’t intend to,” Miles said. “Anyway, we should go inform her of her promotion.”

\---

Amue and Burn were married by the Supreme Cleric. There were a lot of whispers and gossips surrounding that ceremony, but the lovebirds successfully finished their vows before Amue’s water broke. She fairly well ruined her wedding dress, but she was only going to wear it once, anyway. They named their sun Eyal.

“He’s beautiful,” Burn whispered to his wife. “He’s big, like his mommy.”

“He looks like his daddy,” Amue said. They lapsed into blissful silence until Amue spoke again. “Burn?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“What’s your birth name? You’re Burn Armstrong now, but what did your name used to be?”

“Anthony Goldstein,” Burn said sheepishly. Amue wrinkled her nose. It was a thoroughly ordinary name.

“I like Burn,” she said.

Burn laughed. “Me, too.”

Strongine chose not to stay in Ishval. More specifically, she chose to join the circus. She and Yoki excitedly told Scar about it.

“She’d be a perfect strongwoman,” Yoki explained. “We’re going to add a bit into the act where she throws me across the stage!”

“Yoki is most fun to throw,” Strongine beamed radiantly.

Scar smiled at them. “I wish the best to both of you. Come back to Ishval any time you like.”

“And send word any time there’s trouble,” Yoki agreed.

“Always,” Strongine added. She held out a powerful hand, and Scar shook it. “I wish the best to you and Miles.”

“Thank you,” Scar said. “And I to you and Yoki.”

\---

“Scar, can I speak to you?”

Scar turned to find President Shan behind him.

“Of course, Madam President. What is it about?”

“Arieh,” she said curtly. “Here, just follow me.”

Scar had no difficulty keeping pace with President Shan, and she led him to the Oasis (now under new management). Inside, he found Arieh, Darius, and Heinkel regaling the patrons of a bar with a story.

“-I had just refortified the north wall around the Holy Temple,” Arieh was saying, “when the Amestrian forces broke through. I thought we were a done for!”

“But me and Darius had snuck up behind the forces,” Heinkel continued. He had an arm thrown around Darius.

“We got ‘em good!” Darius crowed.

Heinkel took a sip of his beer.

Darius took a sip of his beer.

Arieh reached for his mug, at which point Scar deftly took it out of his reach.

“You’re too young to drink!” President Shan scolded.

“But I’m a war hero,” Arieh protested.

“You are getting a big head is what you are,” President Shan retorted.

“You are an alchemist,” Scar said. “You must keep your wits about you. Alcohol at your age is not good for the mind.”

“Sorry, kid,” Darius muttered.

“Tough break,” Heinkel said.

“Rats,” Arieh said.

“He’ll grow out of it,” Scar whispered to President Shan.

“Ishvala preserve us if we were ever that young,” President Shan whispered back, a twinkle in her eye. Scar prevented himself from laughing, but he couldn’t stop himself from grinning a bit.

\---

Miles was very busy in the wake of Amestris recognizing Ishval’s independence, but he and Scar still had time to have dinner together.

“I hear Simon moved next door to you,” Miles said one evening as they ate.

Scar nodded. “He wanted me to be a part of the boys’ lives, too. They’ve lost so much that Simon didn’t want them to feel like they lost me, too. The Orensteins have moved just on the other side of them, so that we can help each other with the children.”

“What’s the lumpy statue outside your door?” Miles asked. “I saw it the other day.”

Scar smiled, the small smile of a proud parent. “The boys made that with alchemy. They said that it will scare away invaders.”

“Wait, is it supposed to be you?” Miles asked. “It barely looks human!”

Scar’s smiled broadened. “It is my favor statue of myself.”

Miles laughed. “Olivier says she hopes that she can visit soon.”

“That is good,” Scar said.

\---

Olivier could not visit straight away. In addition to her presidential duties and arranging for elections, she also had to deal with her brother’s situation. It was a rare case where she and Alex were in agreement about something.

“You want to go to jail?” Olivier asked.

“Not really,” Alex admitted. “But I should be charged for my crimes in Ishval. As I intend to plead guilty, jail will be where I end up.”

Olivier raised her eyebrow. “I’m impressed that you aren’t trying to exploit your family connections to get out of it or ask special favors.”

“Well, there is one,” Alex said.

It was for this reason that when Alex was sentenced to incarceration, he was assigned to be Bald’s cellmate.

“Welcome back,” Bald said. Olivier had pardoned Sig and a few of the other prisoners, but Bald had been sent back to jail.

“I am happy to be back,” Alex said, “and speaking of backs, would you like to see my back muscles?”

“Mmm, yes,” Bald said. Alex grinned as he ripped off his shirt and struck a pose.

\---

Eventually, however, Olivier did get a chance to return to Ishval, where she and Miles had dinner at Scar’s place. Scar had cooked and then put baby Noa down for the night.

“I am glad you were both able to come tonight,” Scar said. “There is something I want to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” Miles asked.

“I would like Miles and I to have a marriage ceremony and have him move in with me,” Scar said. “I will add a room for Olivier, as well, for whenever she wishes to visit.”

“Yes,” Miles said.

“I approve,” Olivier said.

Scar slipped off the ring that Olivier had given him years prior, which had temporarily housed the Philosopher’s Stone made of Marcoh’s soul. Concentrating with alchemy, he separated it into three rings, each of which was a third the width in size. Silently, he handed one to Miles and one to Olivier.

“Olivier, I understand that your heart will lead you to many places and people and beds, but let this ring signify the love you have for Miles, as the ring I have signifies my love for him, and his ring signifies his love for both of us.”

“Always,” Miles said.

“With all my strength,” Olivier agreed.

Noa started to fuss then, so Scar picked her up and rocked her. Then Miles asked to hold her, so Scar passed her to him to rock. Olivier declared that she would not lose it over a mere baby, but Miles argued how cute she was, and Olivier ended up cooing at her. As Scar watched them, he thought of his new family and of the friends that surrounded him, and he believed he might spend the rest of his life smiling.


	24. Chapter 24

Olivier’s day began in the Settlement in Ishval. She awoke on the East side of the bed. Miles lay next to her, and beyond him, she could hear Scar snoring.

“Your feet are cold,” Miles muttered.

“That’s why I have them against your back,” Olivier said haughtily, “that you might warm them up.”

“If you do no remove them,” Miles teased, “I shall have to kiss them. And I know your secret; the underside of your feet is ticklish.”

“Lies!”

“Oh, really? Shall we test that?”

Miles twisted to go for Olivier feet and soon found himself flat on his back. Olivier was astride him and had pinned his arms down. There were groans from beside them as Scar awoke. He gazed sleepily at the other two.

“Can I have a turn next?” he muttered.

“Unfortunately,” Olivier said, letting Miles out of the pin, “there’s no time for that. We’ve got a birthday party, I believe.”

“And an election,” Miles added.

“Ha,” Olivier said. “The election is not for a week now. Today is only about birthdays.”

A happy smile had settled across Scar’s face. “I can’t believe Noa is one already.”

Olivier left the master bedroom for the living area. There was a large pile of presents stacked on the couch. She was certain that all of Ishval spoiled Scar’s daughter. The stack of presents moved, and Olivier peered over the couch to see Dror holding up one of the presents and shaking it.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to see what’s in it,” Dror answered, unabashed.

“Those are not for you.”

“Don’t see why a baby needs so many gifts,” Dror muttered before trotting off to find his siblings. While Olivier was inclined to agree, she did not wish to be hypocritical. She knew that Alex had been doing modeling classes while in prison, and he had used the funds to purchase a pony for his niece. It was en route to Ishval at the moment and would arrive in time for the party.

Olivier ate a quick breakfast, got ready, and then walked over to the apartment where Amue, Burn, President Shan, and Arieh lived. It was in the same complex but far enough away and around on the other side so that Amue and Burn wouldn’t constantly be bumping into Miles.

“How’s the heir to the Armstrong name?” Olivier asked after she had entered.

“His Nibbs has a poopy diaper,” Amue informed her. She handed her son to his father. “I need to put the icing on the cake.”

“Yes, my love,” Burn said. He sniffed his nose. “Stinky boy.”

“You sure it’s not going to be awkward, us being there?” Amue asked worriedly.

“Miles is mine now,” Olivier smirked and then added, “And Scar’s too, of course.”

“Yes, but-”

“You were invited,” Olivier said firmly. “They wouldn’t have invited you if they didn’t want you to come.”

“GOOD MORNING ISHVAL!” Yoki’s voice bellowed in the distance, his voice amplified by a megaphone.

Olivier frowned. “I see the circus has arrived.”

“Give Strongine my love,” Amue said.

The full circus had set up in its usual spot, but Yoki and Strongine were right outside of the apartment complex when Olivier exited her sister’s home. Yoki was clad in his full clown attire. Strongine was wearing a one-piece leotard and a tutu.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Olivier asked.

Yoki beamed at her. “No birthday party is complete without clowns!”

“I see. You two can help me carry the presents,” Olivier instructed. “We’re setting up at the Holy Temple.”

“Ah, phewie,” Yoki said. “I can’t wear my big floppy shoes then.”

“You’ll live,” Olivier told him. They walked back to Scar and Miles’ place. Scar, Miles, and Noa were already out of the house, likely making last minute arrangements for the party. Olivier, her sister, and Yoki gathered up the presents and headed to the Holy Temple. Olivier and her sister fell into step beside each other.

“I haven’t really seen her since she was born,” Strongine said softly.

“Not having second thoughts about giving up custody, are you?” Olivier asked.

Strongine shook her head. “No, and I know that Noa has loving parents to raise her. I just-”

“Just what?”

“Just hope that when she gets older, she isn’t angry with me,” Strongine said at last.

“If you’re worried that she’ll think you abandoned her,” Olivier said, “I don’t think you have to be. She never knew you in the first place. And like you said; she’s got loving parents.”

“Why is there a pony in the Holy Temple?” Yoki asked when they arrived. Olivier wrinkled her nose.

“I’ll take it outside,” she said. Ponies were seldom housebroken. There was a stable nearby, and Olivier decided to rent a stall until the party started. She was just about to knock on the door when she heard a shuffling behind her. She spun around, her hand on her sword, to find her father there.

“Oh, Olive,” he said.

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

“It’s my granddaughter’s first birthday,” he said, and he had the grace to look abashed.

“You recognize her as your granddaughter then?” Olivier asked.

“It’s not proper-” he began, but Olivier cut him off.

“It’s also not proper to out your eldest daughter to her enemies,” Olivier spat.

“I was trying to teach you a lesson.”

“That much was obvious.”

“It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?” he asked. “You’re expected to win the election.”

“Of course I am!”

“Do you want me to go?” he asked.

“Do what you like,” Olivier said. “But if you intend to attend the party, I hope that you’ll have brought a gift. You may leave it in the Holy Temple. Mind you that you remove your shoes before entering.”

Turning on her heel, she knocked on the door of the stable and got the pony settled in. When she exited, her father was gone and a number of newsmen had taken his place.

“Madam President! Madam President!” one of them shouted.

“Move,” Olivier snapped. She strode forward, and the newsmen shifted to let her through.

“Is it true that you’re involved with the criminal Scar?” one of the newsman shouted.

“It is not true,” Olivier said. “I am involved with Brigadier General Miles. Brigadier General Miles is additionally involved with Scar, who is not a criminal here in Ishval. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you numbskulls to get this straight.”

“Is it true that you also have female lovers?” another newsman asked excitedly.

Olivier rolled her eyes, but before she could answer, she heard Izumi speak. “We’re right here.” Olivier saw that beyond the gaggle of reporters, Izumi and Gracia were standing.

“This hasn’t been a secret in over a year,” Gracia said softly. “So I hardly think it counts as news.”

A newsman immediately got up in Gracia’s personal space, pen and paper in hand. “Do you worry that your relationship with President Armstrong has negatively affected her chance at maintaining the presidency?”

“The import thing is that the will of the people are finally deciding the presidency,” Gracia answered.

“Now scram,” Olivier ordered. “It’s my niece’s birthday party.”

The trio headed to the Holy Temple in time to see Scar and Miles arrive at the same time as Burn and Amue. Scar had Noa strapped to his chest.

“Miles,” Amue said.

“Hello, Amue,” Miles said. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m sorry!” Amue blurted out. She didn’t have to say about what, and she looked absolutely wretched.

“Apology accepted,” Miles said graciously.

“Really?” Amue asked.

“Really,” Miles assured her. “We have to set a good example for the next generation, don’t we? Now come inside.”

The party – which Noa would of course not remember when she was older – was a great success. She tried to eat the wrapping paper, smashed her face into the cake, and was positively enchanted when she was brought outside to find a pony to bray at her. Later, when most of the guests had gone home, Olivier, Miles, and Scar took a break from cleaning up to sit on the banks of the river. They let the wake from the passing boats lap over their toes and took turns passing Noa between them. Olivier smiled at Miles, who leaned his head on her shoulder, and Scar hooked an arm around Miles’ waist. She knew that she’d have to leave that evening and return to campaigning, but she knew that moments of such pure bliss were precious, so she endeavored to enjoy it for as long as she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. I started writing this a year ago, and I'm excite to have finally completed it. Thank you to everyone who read, left comments, and gave kudos.


End file.
